This is one blog post that probably no one other than me will ever read. And that’s ok. I’m hoping it will be cathartic; maybe lead to an epiphany. Help me analyze some signals the universe has been sending me. Work through some disappointments, some WTFs, maybe choose a new road. Maybe just burn some bridges on the road we’re currently on.
We’ve committed ourselves to this project. To the point where we have only gone kayaking once this summer and one time to the beach. Our days are spent planning, planting, harvesting, weeding, and, of course watering. It is my absolute dream and I’ve given 110 percent for three years during a drought.
After the stressors of last week (money issues, house issues, family issues, health issues and four very busy days at work) I really needed a break today. We headed to a state wildlife area in northern Polk County for a long hike and a lazy kayak around a nearby lake. The temps were in the high seventies, light breeze, sun shining. I debated on bringing a sweatshirt with me but decided against it. The day was picture perfect.
The three of us hit the water and an immediate sense of peace hit me. Literally bowled me over as I realized how stressed I had been and how getting back to nature, for me, was absolutely necessary. We had the lake to ourselves. No houses, no other people, just us, the sandhill crane,
the two swans, the deer nibbling grasses along the edge of the lake and the eagle protecting her nest high in an old oak tree.
I felt happy, optimistic, and was starting to feel refreshed. I took pictures. I opened the door to hope and my heart and my head both responded.
Then the thunderstorm moved in. Dark and heavy clouds and I regretted the absence of my sweatshirt when the air cooled and the rain started. But we stayed out on the water, eating popcorn and pre-packaged crackers and peanut butter. We laughed about the weather. Talked about how it would be a day that we would always remember.
Then the rain stopped. The sun came out. We were warm again. And we decided to continue our lazy paddle around the lake. I took a few more pictures, a few more deep breaths, let out some of the tension that had returned.
Then the second thunderstorm moved in. Heavier rain, heavier clouds, cooler temperatures and I yelled, “I’m out!” and paddled like crazy toward the boat landing, realizing once I got there that BC had the keys to the truck and he was in no hurry crossing the water.
So I sat on the shore, in the rain, and waited. And thought how effing ironic that during a drought, on the day I needed to recover, we were caught on the water in not one, but two thunderstorms. You can’t make this SH*T up. Saturday Night Live couldn’t make this SH*T up.
So we headed south, driving through heavy rain and strong winds. I was frustrated but optimistic from watching the radar that we were receiving rain at our house. Yay! I wouldn’t need to water anything tonight. We had lunch in a village about 20 minutes away from the lake we had just been doused on. The sky was pristine, again. The winds were light, again. It was the perfect summer day again. I was furious.
Driving home after lunch, we could see that there had been heavy rain. Puddles along the roadsides still an inch deep although the storm I watched on radar had moved through nearly four hours prior. Less than five miles north of our house, we could still see standing water in low-lying areas. I was beyond elated, having just been furious two hours earlier, and started to decompress two hours earlier than that.
We returned home and the rain gauge was bone dry. Not a drop. Not a effing drop of rain. But Mother Nature had another surprise for us. Most of my native gardens had been levelled by 50 MPH winds that moved through in front of the storm. Yellow coneflowers were lying on the ground as if just napping. The six foot tall Joe Pye week was broken off at the stem 24 inches above ground level, still clutching blooms that would now never open. Blue Vervain once taller than me had also surrendered to nature’s empty promise of rain. I was tearful and defeated.
I’m not a naïve person but now I feel like this is a fool’s errand. Between BC and I, we can handle the lack of rain by committing hours to watering and at least keeping everything alive for the one season it needs before it can survive without our help.
But we can’t stop the wind.
I’ve said this before in a couple of my blogs, it’s been discouraging. But I could cope. I can’t cope with coming home and finding my gardens shredded by the wind and still no rain.
Again, I’m not naïve, but I feel like I am not picking up what Mother Nature is laying down. We are trying to do so much good here and we are being defeated at almost every turn. We are already planning on moving south, where there is no drought. Sadly, after all the work that we have done here, but I can’t take this anymore. Just the fact that the majority of my blogs have been about this topic shows how important this is to us.
I’m tempted to compost all the plants I have that still need to be planted, but I’m stalling until the moment passes. If it passes. I’m not so sure anymore.
And I really don’t care at the moment.
The wind is still gusting 30 miles an hour. I’m sitting on the deck and it’s 65 degrees on July 16. I’m wrapped in a blanket.
You’ve gotten my attention, Mother Nature. Now just send me a sign telling me what to do next. I can’t see the way forward anymore.
I understand that peoplekind is the root cause of global warming and stripping this planet of all it has to offer, but BC and I are giving our all to try to make a difference.
I can water, but I can’t stop the wind.
Nature always wins.
But I am a very bad loser.
(If you are so inclined, leave a comment below, maybe a word of advice or encouragement, because I'm running out of hope here....)
Jinkies it was a crazy mixed up day but we made.