Relative Something

I have another picture for you to compare. On Sunday I posted a picture of the standing water in our paddock, and then yesterday, I posted the improvement visible after a couple of days without rain. Today, you can compare the difference a day —and 2-inches of rain— can make. We are wet, all over again.

Unfortunately, we experienced two different failures that contributed to the amount of water that inundated that large paddock. First, I wasn’t able to reconnect the hose that Legacy pulled off the trough and dragged into the paddock because he had squeezed the threaded end out-of-round. In haste, I grabbed the closest hose at hand, but it was a poor choice. It was one of those new collapsible type hoses, and for this application of draining the tank by gravity, that hose presented too much resistance. On top of that, it wasn’t long enough, so I grabbed another old hose that I figured I wouldn’t miss if it ended up a permanent fixture down there, but the reason I wouldn’t miss it is because it kinks easily. Kink, it did.

The end result was that the water trough beneath the downspout overflowed and poured directly into the paddock.

The second failure was a plug of silt and debris that dammed up my little drainage channel that runs behind the barn. It occurred right at the worst spot for the water to pour out of the channel and run into the most problematic spot of that paddock.

What that means is, all the water from that 2-inches of rain that fell on the barn roof, front and back, ended up pouring right into the paddock. This is the very thing that I established was the first and most important issue we needed to tend to in order to improve the state of our paddocks. We devised some rudimentary systems to prove the concept, and they have been working surprisingly well, up to this point.

I hate to be moping about this, especially in face of news about the level of suffering the people of the Balkans are enduring due to unprecedented flooding there. Our situation is frustrating, but it’s nothing like that. Yet.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.