Oldest stared out the bedroom window. “Who wants to go whitewater rafting in the front yard?”
Let’s add that statement to the things-I-never-wanted-to-hear list shall we?
And why does the first glimpse of every horrifying event happen at my bedroom window anyway?
First wildfires then torrents of flood waters.
At the back of our eleven acre property runs a wet-weather creek. The banks of that creek are over thirty feet deep.
The creek rushed a mere five acres from our basement. And when I say rushed? I mean the roar was reminiscent of a waterfall at Yellowstone National Park.
Thankfully we only lost a bit of the driveway before the flood gates closed and the sun reemerged. Now we’re just trying to dry out a bit before the next wave of rain hits.