February 22, 2003

Too Much Too Fast

This is not a drill. This is the real thing. Water is up over the concrete bridges west of us, threatening to be up over the road, east. We have moved our vehicles up as high as we can and are watching an angry, grinding, soil-choken Goose Creek carve away at the banks and eat out around the trees that have survived along the creek til now. We'll lose some tonight.

Expecting the rains to finally end late today, followed by 60 mph winds tonight and tomorrow. I doubt we will try to get out for church, even if the road itself survives. We could come back to a dozen monster trees down over the road.

I'd be happier to see all this moisture if more of it was getting into the deep ground. As it is, the frost down a few inches deep is making it seems as if all this rain is falling on a vast parking lot over square miles, and the creek is the convenient storm drain. It smells seaweedy, smells of topsoil out there and the creek is terrible, raging, powerful, mindlessly following the only laws it knows. Water and time are the brushes that created this Appalachian canvas through the eons, but it's not a pretty picture as it happens.

Now. Time for an inventory of candles, batteries, drinking water, crank radio, and a book with print large enough to read by the oil lamps tonight. And hey, it might be a good idea to use some our duct tape and make the dog a raincoat.

Posted by fred1st at February 22, 2003 10:34 AM | TrackBack
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