Rain, rain, and more rain

 

Photo by Jean Walbridge

If you live in the Fort Worth/Dallas area, you know the news. And truly, wherever you live in the lower forty-eight, you have probably heard the news: we have had historic flooding in our area. When the drought broke, it did so with force. Tonight, flooding in Dallas was the first subject on the NBC Nightly News, with pictures of stranded cars, rescues, high water, and even water in homes.

As usual—and so wrong—Fort Worth was overshadowed by Dallas. But the situation was pretty impressive here. It started to rain last night maybe about eight or nine. I know it thundered mightily—Sophie will tell you—and I went to sleep about 11:30 to the sound of rain, woke up this morning to more rain. I assume it had been raining throughout the night, and it kept up until early afternoon. Steady, medium rain; then a light sprinkle; and then back to that steady rain.

The official measurement at DFW airport was nine inches and something. In my neighborhood, some gauges showed slightly over ten inches in twenty-four hours. As one newspaper reporter wrote, we got a whole summer’s worth of rain in one 24-hour period. There were something like 130-plus calls for high-water rescues and an astounding number of auto accidents. Familiar streets, including that in front of my former office, were chest deep in water, major thoroughfares closed. Fortunately, there are no reports of death or serious injury—a mirace.

Creeks have turned into raging rivers. Someone posted a picture of a tiny creek that runs off near the zoo (close to our house): it was a churning, swift-flowing torrent. I read where homes in the northeast portion of the city were evacuated because a stream left its banks, and there was water in some houses.

Jean, who lives in a retirement community downtown, on the 17th floor, overlooking the Trinity, sent pictures. The river was way out of its banks, over the walking path and the road next to it, with a lone pickup sitting askew in the water. I wonder if that driver knows how lucky he or she is to be alive.

Every year, there are people who don’t listen to “Don’t drown, turn around.” They think they can make it through standing water. They can’t. I read today that two feet is enough to sweep a car or SUV away. We tried hard to tell Jacob that at dinner. When I asked if he knew what to do when confront with water on the roadway, he said, “Go slow?” His mother and I both yelled, “No!”

It's a relief of course to have the long, hot drought broken. The temperature tonight at nine is 76, and highs in the low eighties are predicted for the next few days. Such a relief, though I must admit staying in as much as I do, I felt the extreme heat less than others. Still, as an Austin friend wrote, it felt like a fever had finally broken.

At first, I was tempted to say, rather poetically, “See? The earth heals itself.” But I don’t really believe that. These floods, like the drought, are part of climate change or, to put it more succinctly, climate disaster that man has wrought upon the earth. We have covered the world with concrete, destroying habitats that maintained the balance of nature, the vegetation that holds moisture for the earth. Our oil and gas and industries and luxuries and concrete heat up the environment, so there is no moisture. But today I read that because of the heat, the atmosphere holds more moisture, so that when it unleashes itself, we get torrential rain. I don’t pretend to be a meteorologist or to understand this thoroughly, but I wish someone with more wisdom would explain it. Meantime I know without a doubt that the weather in our world—hurricanes, floods, drought, long spells of extreme heat and then extreme cold, is getting worse, and it’s due to man-made climate disaster.

The bill that President Biden just signed is the first significant step toward fighting climate disaster. Still some states merrily burn fossil fuels as if there were no tomorrow. Yes, I’m thinking of Texas where Abbott has not seriously addressed the grid problem, despite his assurances. And West Virginia, though I don’t understand Manchin’s recent move where he may have turned tables on coal interests.

Like so much of our world, I wish for clarity so I could understand. Until then, I’m doing an ongoing rain dance. But I don’t want our new tree to get too much water so that its roots are standing in water. I am reminded of Elmer Kelton, the late, beloved Texas novelist whose The Time It Never Rained has been hailed as one of the few classic American novels to come out of the twentieth century. Some years ago, Elmer wrote an article entitled, “The Time It Always Rained.” He pointed out that too much rans brings problems, just as too little does.

A flood and some trivia

Remind me to be a little cautious next time I exult about how much I love a good storm. Last night, rain which had been all around us final came—first big drops and then a really heavy rain and dark skies too early in the evening. The thunder continued, but we had no wind, no lightning. My kind of storm, and I was a happy camper. Sophie not so much. She was by my side, even if I went from desk to kitchen, a distance of maybe fifteen feet.

But then I happened to glance out the French doors—the patio and the back portion of the yard were under about three inches of water. I wasn’t afraid it would rise and come into the cottage—it still had about five or six inches to go before that. But the portion of the yard that was flooded became a sea of mud—it’s under trees, shady so no grass will grow, and we just hadn’t decided what to do with it. I was afraid Sophie would be desperate to go out, and I didn’t want her in the mud. My fear was reinforced by Jordan who texted from Dallas, “Don’t let Sophie out.” Long story short, Jordan came home, let her out, and watched to be sure she only went on the grass. This morning I called a landscaper for mondo grass.

We have two sinkholes in the yard where Atmos dug great, deep holes and then filled them in. With the rain, they’ve sunk several inches below the sidewalk. Of course, they aren’t yet covered with grass. Atmos will come back and do that. So far, the dogs have not gone near them.

Do you know about the Manitou Incline? Only a mile long, the arduous trail gains 200 feet from beginning to summit, a 68% grade. It was built years ago as a track for a cable car to carry pipeline supplies. No longer needed for that purpose, it has become a tourist attraction. My daughter and her family climbed it a couple of days ago. There are some things I’m grateful my lack of mobility won’t allow me to do. This is one of them, though I’ll probably never be faced with the opportunity gracefully decline.

Festive and fun supper tonight with Betty and Christian at a new wine bistro. We ordered scallops—they were out; we ordered ceviche—the chef didn’t like the look of the ingredients. We ate a charcuterie board and deviled eggs. Delightful!

Why did all this work pile up on my desk, while I was at dinner? And is that really thunder I heard in the distance?

From drought to floods—overnight

I was mesmerized this morning, watching the eleven o’clock news report—pictures of flooded streets, reports of closed highways. It rained much of yesterday afternoon but overnight a gentle rain turned into downpours which continued all day. Newscasters advised people not to drive unless they had to and particularly not to head south out of the Metroplex.

Just as Jacob headed for school, a horrendous clap of thunder hit right over my house. Impressive thunder continued off and on throughout the morning. Sophie usually is not bothered by storms, but this morning she needed frequent reassurance that she was safe. She spent much of the morning at my feet in the “safe spot” under my desk. It made me think of my Aussie, Scooby, who was terrified of storms and hid there often, raking my legs with his nails in his fright. I wondered if it rains and thunders on the Rainbow Bridge—probably not.

So where was my Fort Worth family headed during all this? Waco. Straight into the worst of it. They were going for the Baylor homecoming, and I knew it was useless to try to dissuade them. I didn’t even try. Just said a prayer for them, fed them lunch, and sent them on their way. This afternoon, after a late nap, I woke up to a message that they had arrived safely, and pictures on Facebook testified that they were enjoying the activities.

It all sounds like a miserable experience to me, but I am neither a Baylor fan nor a football fan. I am mildly interested in TCU football, but I wouldn’t go to a game in the rain. It’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow too. Thank you, monster storm Patricia. We wanted rain, but not like this. I worry about the people in Mexico, many of whom are ill prepared to deal with the worst hurricane in history…and the people in Puerto Vallarta, who thought they were going on a carefree vacation.

Meantime I spent the day playing the recluse—mostly at my desk. Sent off a guest blog, made great progress on formatting Desperate for Death for publication, sending in an insurance request. Periodically it pours and then all is quiet. Kind of spooky.

I’ve enjoyed allowing myself time to read mysteries this week. Just finished A Dish Best Served Cold: An Italian Kitchen Mystery, by Rosie Genova. Recommend it highly. Looking forward to starting a new book tonight—quite a selection on my iPad and choosing will be hard.

Y’all stay safe and dry. Don’t go out if you don’t have to.