And to think I sold my sailboat and moved to New Brunswick; this torrential downpour we’re experiencing, should it keep up for 40 days and 40 nights, I’ll be wishing I was still living on it – I’ll bet the animals are climbing aboard it right now; two by two – Mt. Ararat, here we come. I kept the dinghy; thoughts of taking it down to the lake and doing a little fishing are quickly vanishing; at this rate, I’ll just wait for the lake to come to me. It’s so sopping wet here in Fosterville, I thought I saw a fish, instead of a squirrel, leaping from branch to branch on a big old birch tree. Up till a day ago we had about a foot of snow and the lake was frozen solid. However, at the rate the rain is pelting us; it wouldn’t surprise me if the Atlantic Ocean and Grand Lake were to meet, even though they’re situated quite a distance apart.
One good thing about the rain (that is, if it’s a good thing) I’m discovering where all the leaks are in the house and the shop. As I was lying on the bed reading a book, trying to get warm after digging a trench around the shop to keep the water from pouring under the large double doorway and flood my newly built art studio, I happened to look up at the ceiling. Good thing too, because since the paint was beginning to bubble, it gave us a chance to move the bed and some other things in case it bursts and we have a freezing midnight shower while we’re sleeping – now that would be one rude awakening! Tonight, instead of pajamas, I think we’ll wear life preservers and maybe tie the dinghy to the foot of the bed – might be good enough to float us into the kitchen next to the woodstove, where we can brew us a hot cup of tea or hot chocolate.
Off and on through the day, I thought the ghost, who resides in our 80 year old, fixer-upper house was thumping around upstairs but it was just the snow and the huge icicles falling off the roof and eaves. When I go outside, I make a quick dash for it; could get impaled by a chunk of ice or smothered in the wet snow should it happen to fall off and hit me. Up till about five days ago, I was enjoying my customary morning walks to the lake and back (about a mile round trip) until the snow got too deep to trudge the unplowed roadway. Too bad this wasn’t a tropical downpour, I could most likely swim my way there and back but the way it is, I’m afraid I’d freeze my little gonads off and some squirrel would tuck them away for a winter treat.
Not quite like the poem, “The Ancient Mariner” – water, water everywhere, and all the boards did shrink – water, water everywhere - but we’ve got a hell of a lot to drink! It’s odd, last summer our well almost went dry – wasn’t sure if it was the elephant sized spider that was living in its damp darkness or a shortage of water that was causing the problem. Well I guess I know now, it was the thirsty spider because there’s enough water spurting out of the belligerent, cloudy sky and streaming down the grumpy Green Mountain to keep the well filled to the brim for the next ten years – geesh – the New Brunswickian spiders, like the rain, are something to beware.
If it wasn’t so dark right now, I’d go a hunting for Noah; see if I could swap him for a two week old 649 Lotto ticket for a bunk on his Ark – why hell, I’d even muck out the animal’s stalls and bring them tubs of water and feed – and of course, I’d keep especially good care of the doves – they’ll know when the land eventually pokes its head up out of the deluge.
Cheers – eh!
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