Roiling Waters

When we first moved here, we understood that the West Fork of Spring Creek, that stream running along the front corner of our property, would run seasonally; however, this year it has held water even through the dry spells. (For readers who remember an earlier entry, we moved here under the misconception that the creek was named Dry Creek. I'm sure I saw that name on some internet map of the property way back when this area was all new to us. When the time came to begin applying for grants to assist with the farm, I learned that we live in the Spring Creek Watershed, on Spring Creek.) Names notwithstanding, this morning's roiling waters quite impressed me. To be able to see the water in the creek from the front porch is unusual indeed.

True, I did hear the deluge of rains pounding atop our metal roof in the wee hours of the morning. (The sound soothes me and I used it as my excuse to discontinue the paperwork with which I was struggling at the time and to return to the refuge offered by a soft pillow and a cozy bed.) The volume and unceasing nature of last night's rains combined with the flooding being experienced in other areas of late should have prepared me for the rushing river of water along our creek bed. Yet I was delightfully surprised to encounter the living entity of that swollen creek this morning.

The plant life that usually lines the creek for a few yards was wholly submerged. Noting the additional width of the stream, I was glad to have had the restricted access fencing placed so far back. (The Natural Resource Conservation Service [NRCS], a division of the USDA, granted some funds to help us install fencing that restricts livestock access to waterways. While the front perimeter fencing falls into that category, we have more restricted access fencing to install at the back of the property [where the creek is most generally dry].) The NRCS guidelines state that such fencing be placed twenty feet from the banks of the creek. Today's swollen creek helps to illustrate why the fence must be set back so far from the actual creek.

At this time the vivaciously rushing water has abated, but the creek is still readily visible from my second story office window. I don't know what it is about moving water that speaks to me so clearly. Rushing creeks, ebbing and flowing oceans, gently moving rivers and streams--all of these are so alive that I feel pulled to stand by, to look closer, to listen longer.