|The river in front of the cottage yesterday afternoon, before the storm. Now, the riffle and the big boulder you see in the lower right are all under water…and the water is still rising, though shouldn't reach any worrisome level.|
As I write this at 7:45 a.m. on the eleventh day of June, the sky is gray and heavily overcast, the light dim, and it is 65˚F outside. That is not a complaint. Neither is it when I say the ground is absolutely saturated. Nope, far as I'm concerned, these are all good things, minor blessings—right down to the sopping wet earth.
Why? Because I've spent all week—at least the part when I wasn't glued to my desk, writing—planting seeds and seedlings, building a couple of new flower beds, digging, trimming bushes, moving stones. Hard labor for this increasingly decrepit carcass. But work made seriously more difficult by blast-furnace bright skies and temperatures in the upper-80s and low-90s. Being more moose than manatee, I don't do hot weather well during the best of times—but when you jump from an April and May that seldom felt much warmer than March, straight into the tropics, with no time for acclimation…well, the body rebels, energy evaporates, and my will for self-inflicted abuse goes into hiding.
Then, about 6:00 p.m. yesterday, the weather and world took a turn for the better when a broad band of severe thunderstorms moved in from the west. We got the whole shebang—lightening, thunder, fearsome winds, torrential downpours, hail. In ten minuted the temperature dropped twenty degrees. The river rose three feet in half an hour. A glorious gift! Plus it continued to rain sporadically throughout the evening.
So now, with the river still on the rise, it is cool outside, there are clouds to act as a sun-screening umbrella, and the ground is soft—which means digging for the stone walkway I've decided to build will go much easier. What a beautiful Saturday!
|Here's the same view of the river this morning. Unfortunately, the sun is now out…but it's still cool.|