Rain poured down yesterday for most of the day. Goats hid in and under their shelters. Chickens hid in their house. Dogs slept on the porch.
Georgia called to tell me the water was up to the trees behind her house. She told me I’d better not go anywhere!
I told her I had kids to pick up from the bus!
We were talking in exclamation points!
I headed down my driveway. I could see trouble before I was all the way down.
The river was flooded, rushing wildly, out of its banks.
There was water running down the road.
The bridge over the creek on our driveway was stopped up with branches and brush and a tire that had washed down the creek from who knows where.
The water was flooding out over the driveway and into the road and part of the sheep’s field.
To leave our farm, you can either ford the river or drive through three creeks and go over the hill. I was headed for the old farmhouse where the kids get off the bus–through the three creeks and over the hill.
The creek running alongside the sheep’s field was full to the banks.
See the leaning tree? That’s the spot where I walk across the creek every morning to the shelter where I milk Beulah Petunia.
The creek makes a lot of noise when it’s high and running hard. You can’t hear anything else but rushing water. The river is even louder, but I was driving away from the river.
Creek crossings in fencelines always have to be checked after a flood because the pounding water and rolling debris, logs, branches, and other junk that gets caught up in the wild water often tears them down. This one was holding up so far.
The first creek is the deepest, and it’s full and running fast. I’m still thinking I can do this.
Now I’m thinking I can’t do this.
I’ve never driven across the creek when it’s this high before. I chicken out and have to back up a long way before I reach the drive up to the old cemetery where I can turn around.
Then I have to call Georgia and make her day by telling her she was right, and leave my children to spend the night at my cousin’s house.