ZERO TO SIXTY

Tuesday, a mere five days ago, one of my top priorities was to water the baby trees I had just planted.  Also, the watermelons I had cruelly put out into the baked earth of my garden needed daily drinks.  They were my second shot at those summer fruit vines.  The first batch had withered immediately upon having to deal with the desert-like conditions of the ‘real world’ circa spring 2018.  I don’t know if it was stubbornness or optimism that had me try again, or maybe I just like hauling precious water around my yard.

Drought is not something I have had to deal with much in the past decade so I am not set up for it.  It’s not like I can just turn the sprinkler on, I would need a half mile of hose.  And even if I had a half mile of hose, I would need an iron-clad contract with our well that if I watered my garden as much as I wanted to, that it would still be able to supply my household water needs.  Like for right now, and on into the future until it rained significantly, or there was snowmelt next spring. 

“There is nothing more precious than water.”  I would explain to each and every plant as I blessed them with their alotted ration every two days.  I wanted them to feel special; that they were the chosen ones who rated a drink.  Heaven knows we all needed a morale boost.

But, that was so last Tuesday.

In this land of extremes we have gone from powder dry and desert-like to a shallow lake in the front yard in less than a week.  Actually, it was four inches of rain in 24 hours that did the trick.  One hundred miles to the southwest they got double that much and are dealing with all kinds of flooded basements and washed out roads.  Been there; done that.  I will keep my grumbling to myself.

So keep this in mind ... this is not grumbling.  These are merely observations; comparisons of life from one week to the next.

Last week the deck planters had to be replenished for the second time because the unnatural heat of May 2018 had cooked many of the newly transplanted flowers.  Pansies had wilted back into the dirt, the bacopa looked crispy fried, even some indestructible petunias had given up the ghost.  This week I tucked them all in under the eaves of our partially covered deck to keep them from being drowned out and whipped to shreds by the storm.

Last week I mowed the yard.  I hesitate to call what was there either ‘grass’ or ‘lawn’.  The only thing growing in the backyard were dandelions – dark green dots of ugliness sprinkled across the crusty yellow of last year’s grass.  The front was a tiny bit healthier looking but was still 94% dandelions, the balance being swamp grass growing down by the culvert.  I usually enjoy my time on the lawnmower but last Tuesday I was coated in road dust, and a pine cone that had fallen unnoticed onto my machine’s muffler almost set the whole thing on fire.  On a positive note, I could mow the whole yard.  The plant life under all that water this morning is a neat 3 ½ inches high.

Last week I could walk across my garden to check on what wasn’t growing.  I had to wear shoes because the soil was so hot and crunchy.  In three rows of corn maybe 15 seeds had managed to germinate.  There was the odd potato poking through.  Onions are tough – they were all up.  And the sunflower seeds we had left for the squirrels last fall had sprouted everywhere but I didn’t dare do too much weeding because I couldn’t tell where the rows of wanted vegetables were planted.  This morning I found a carpet of green throughout the whole garden.  I still can’t distinguish rows but the red root pigweed and lamb’s quarters have taken over the world.  Now I don’t dare walk in the garden because I would sink past my ankles in the mud.

Last week I had no spare water and was concerned about our well.  Yesterday was spent getting the sump pump up and working in the basement.  It’s been running steady ever since.

A beaver wandered into the yard last night, probably thinking he had found a prime stretch of real estate.  Last week he was likely thinking beaver habitat was a thing of the past.

This morning I took a wander around the yard and was glad to see that all the baby trees had their heads above water.  I can’t see the watermelon from the edge of the swamp ... I hope they’re okay.  For sure, they don’t need a drink.