Relative Something

Backstory: My initial lesson in how water flows across our land was after the first winter we moved here, in the spring of 2013. It is a powerful thing to witness large amounts of water begin to flow toward the next lowest spot on the way to the nearest river.

When the big melt started that spring, snow had filled the main drainage swale along the southern border of our property. It was impossible to see the water moving beneath the snow cover, but when the flow became too much for the situation, that snow became a dam. The water backed up until it spilled over the bank and flooded our neighbor’s farm field.

It became obvious to me that neglected growth had begun to clog up the western end of the drainage path. That caused the snow to jam against the little trees and thick underbrush until it formed the blockage.

Every year since, I have endeavored to keep our span of the drainage path clear before snow season starts.

Nowadays, most of the flow happens during heavy downbursts of rainstorms, but just in case a big snowfall might still happen, I continue to clear growth from the center of the swale.

Yesterday, I used the string trimmer to carve a path down the middle, instead of the brush cutter pulled by the big diesel tractor. The big tractor flattens much of the tall grass, and then the brush cutter just passes over that without actually mowing it.

Clearing the path right down the center is the fool’s errand, because the flow of water doesn’t care that I want it to stay in the middle and follow the lane I have carved. Runoff carries a lot of organic debris and silt. Anywhere the flow slows, floating material settles out, creating a high spot, so the water then moves around it. Water carves its own path.

So the actual washed-out gully that forms zigs and zags on and off the path I cut. As long as the tall outer sides of the swale are intact, the ultimate purpose is achieved. My choosing to cut the path down the middle is meant to guarantee there will be nothing to collect snow if that situation were to occur again.

Another fool’s errand happens indoors with our dog, Asher. When we picked him up from his foster home, it was obvious he LOVED being on their furniture. We weren’t sure about giving his large 90-pound frame free range on our furniture, but he won us over to a partial degree. Our bed is off limits, and he learned that right away. Cyndie bought covers for the couch and one chair in the living room.

Lately, he’s decided he’d rather choose the tight confines of an uncovered chair.

We can’t resist his sweet little face and don’t really care –his hair is everywhere, regardless– but it is comical that he seems to flow wherever the spirit moves him, regardless of our attempts to guide him.

Seems a little like the water in our drainage swale.

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