Coda?

Long as I remember the rain been comin’ down
Clouds of mystery pourin’ confusion on the ground.
Good men through the ages tryin’ to find the sun.
And I wonder still I wonder who’ll stop the rain.

((c) John Fogerty)

Jack Munger and Nate Sich (The Great Flood of 2012)

As usual, I was wrong. The river is still rising out here in Fredenberg. If you read the last blog, you’ll remember the 16″ of bank we had left protecting us from the Cloquet River. Well, that 16″ of dry land is somewhere beneath the two boys in the photo above. And there appears to be more water coming downstream. I got the boys, who are both stuck here because there’s no way to leave our place, to help me move the canoes, duck boat, and lawn furniture out of harm’s way. That’s why the next photo you’ll see is one of a naked canoe rack. Hide your eyes if such things offend you! The second picture is of Jack and Nate wading the road leading from our house to the county highway. You can see that the only way to get through is to wade, swim, or paddle.

Naked Canoe Racks

Jack Munger and Nate Sich Wading the Road to Nowhere!

Nate and Jack Coming to the end of a Very Wet Walk

Out on the main road, I picked up the mail from our mailbox and tucked it into my shirt along with my wife’s camera (the one I used to snap these shots) and Nate’s iPod. I told the boys that they’d be hauling our two-wheel garbage bin back home through the water and there wasn’t much disagreement. Give kids the chance to try something unusual, like plowing water with a garbage can on wheels, and they’ll generally get on board.But before heading back home, we walked over to the Taft Road bridge to get a better view of the torrent. Man, that slow moving, lazy sonofagun summer river I know so well was no where to be seen. The past few summers have been so dry, you’d scrape rocks canoeing this stretch of the Cloquet even in June. It’s pretty clear that rocks wouldn’t be the problem today, folks.

The Author Standing on the Taft Road Bridge Looking Downriver

One of the really neat things about our house becoming an island is that every bird for miles around has decided our place is a refuge. Today, I’ve seen mourning doves, goldfinches, cowbirds, catbirds, hummingbirds, an osprey, a sand hill crane, a blue heron (twice), bluebirds, robins, barn swallows, ducks, and a mature bald eagle who was sitting in the white pine next to our canoe racks until the boys and I descended upon his tranquility.

The Boys at the Taft Road Bridge

Looking Upriver, The Great Flood of 2012

Looking Downriver, The Great Flood of 2012

We made it back from our excursion to the bridge a little wetter but much wiser. The boys struggled with the garbage bin, mostly because of inattention and not physical strength. From the giggles I heard as they splashed along behind me, I think they enjoyed their time away from our island home.

So long as the water begins to recede by morning, I’ll be content to chalk up the past day off work as another life experience I needed to go through to grow as a person. But if the clouds continue to cry, maybe I’ll have to Google John Fogarty, find his phone number, give him a call, and see if he ever found an answer to his question.

Heard the singers playin’, how we cheered for more.
The crowd had rushed together tryin’ to keep warm.
Still the rain kept pourin’, fallin’ on my ears
And I wonder, still I wonder who’ll stop the rain.

((c) J. Fogerty)

Peace.

Mark