I stir from sleep in the night, hearing a loud thrumming of rain on the roof. I turn over, glad we closed the windows at bedtime.
By morning, the barely lightened sky keeps us dozing later than usual. The rain has ended, but the morning remains dark. I rise, already thinking of the mounds of cucumbers and tomatoes I plan to put up that day.
A quick peek outside reveals a sopping world, and drifts of acorns and debris crossing the sidewalk, revealing a high water mark of overland flow over our hilltop yard. I think to myself, that must have been quite a downpour.
It is good to have it so wet out, to help me resist the temptation to spend the morning out tending the garden, and instead deal with the harvest at hand. I start with a new try at fermented pickles, and set the highly–seasoned jars in the pantry to cure, with tops covered in cheese cloth. The rest of the cukes are hand-sliced and packed in hot vinegary–sweet liquid, then sealed and refrigerated.
The radio is announcing rivers and levees overflowing their banks in Decorah and Granger after a record-breaking eight-inch rainfall, estimated to occur only once in a thousand years. Bad news of dangerous roads and flooded homes follows.
I put my nose to the grindstone and chop up a half bushel of tomatoes, along with peppers, onions, garlic, lime juice and vinegar. Fresh salsa goes into the fridge, and the rest is cooked and divided for freezing.
By now I am beat, and I stroll outside for a break. The rain gauge has an astounding 4.7 inches, but also astounding is that nothing has fallen over in the night. The bean tower and twelve foot tall cannas still stand proud. I keep my eyes down and tie up broken pepper branches. I pick a dozen flopped over Gladiola stalks for a bouquet.
Still, I am oblivious until my husband says, did I see the driveway? New gullies were dug by rushing water along the paved part, and masses of gravel wash down the unpaved part.
We take a walk down to the decrepit county bridge, slated for urgent replacement this fall, and finally I take in the significance of what this rain has done. The vegetation along the creek banks is smashed flat some 15 feet higher than normal, where rushing waters flowed the night before. A dead tree is hung up under the bridge, and the scrim of debris from the highest flow is lodged right under the bridge floor. Any higher and the road would have flooded.
Our neighbors large driveway culvert did not fare as well, and required immediate repair with loads of rock and gravel.
On the plus side, an old water heater dumped into our creek at least 40 years ago is pushed down stream, out of our view. I wonder how far it went before lodging in someone else’s view?
Days later, I try to hike back into the woods to check out how Weisel creek upstream from the bridge fared during the rain. The forest floor was nearly washed clean of last year’s dead leaves, and bulbs of spring ephemerals were partially exposed. When I hit the valley floor, five-foot stands of nettles sent me scuttling back toward home before I could reach the creek.
A week later, we chatted with friends in the living room, and they comment on the cozy wood stove, and how cozy the feeling must be in the winter. I glance at it, and realize that night of the rainstorm, water had leaked in from the roof, down along the chimney, and rusted the top of our wood stove.
A day that started out all about my plans turns into a day of creeping realizations that nature always take charge, whether we acknowledge it or not.
Roast the Garden
- Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
- Peel and halve an onion, and cut criscrosses 1/2 inch deep.
- Cut the top off an unpeeled head of garlic to expose the cloves.
- Cut a medium zucchini, a yellow summer squash and two
- carrots in 2 inch chunks.
- Seed 2 peppers and cut into large chunks.
- Toss all in a roasting pan with olive to lightly coat. Salt and pepper.
- Roast for 50-60 minutes until edges start to brown.
- Let cool a bit, then cut the veggies into bite sized pieces.
- Serve with toast or grilled meat, or just top with tzatziki or salsa.