|The Bulkley River east of Houston|
Bags were packed. Basements were emptied. Businesses began the tedious process of protecting stock by moving it up off floors. Hundreds of volunteers gathered to help with sandbagging efforts. Everyone prayed for the rain to stop and the waters to recede.
|The Train Bridge over Buck Creek. |
As I pushed my own manual reel mower back and forth, I wondered if I was wasting my time. I could hear the water in the creek, only a couple hundred feet from my house, rushing madly along its course, doing its best to get the runoff past our town and away to the ocean with its larger capacity to handle it. It had a long way to go! And there are other towns with their own rain and runoff being added to it along the way. I worried about my house and my neighbours, my daughter and my friends. I worried about the stray cat that hangs around between my house and the neighbour’s. What would become of her if things got bad? When I finally stowed my little mower in the shed, I checked for updates and checked in with loved ones to make sure everyone was still fine and to offer assistance should it be necessary.
I did a bit more yard work. I cleaned my house. I baked cookies. I gave some thought to organizing my office and setting up files for my business. I sorted through the knitting patterns that still need to be typed up and posted on Ravelry. I paced. I prayed. I finally made some supper and organized a small get together with a few people to watch a movie. Again, I marvelled at the normalcy of these activities. At any moment someone could come banging at my door with an order to get out. I wondered if I would go peacefully, or if they would have to drag me from my house kicking and screaming! Thankfully, so far, that hasn’t been put to the test. Hopefully, it never will be.
This morning the dandelions have already repopulated many of the neatly trimmed lawns. They don’t seem the least bit worried about the high water table and over-burdened river beds. In fact they are relishing in the excess moisture. One can practically see them assert themselves in an attempt to cheer up the locals with their pretty yellow blooms; an attempt, I’m sorry to say, that almost always fails. I don’t know why people hate them so much. I think they are quite pretty. But I must admit that I wish they were not so assertive in my gardens. Then again, I don’t care much for my gardens as they are and at least the dandelions are adding some colour to the vast greyness of the gravel that presently covers 90% of my yard. (What was that woman thinking?)
|One of the homes under water next to the overpass as you come in to Houston.|