I'm sorry; I've been so disheartened by the drowning and destruction of our highways and farms and homes, even though where I am, it doesn't touch me directly for now, that I have not been able to look at my cheerful photos, some taken while the water elsewhere was busy creating havoc.
I started blogging, so many years ago now, celebrating the life and beauty all around us. So much to see, underfoot, underwater, in the air above us, in the forests and fields; so much to rejoice in!
But increasingly, I find I'm documenting the losses. The starfish died. We've been clearcutting our forests, destroying habitat for bears and bees and birds. Invasive plants crowd out the deer's fodder. I rarely see moths these days; walking down forest trails, I no longer find myself walking into spider webs. After this summer's heat dome, the beaches smelled of rotting mussels, not able to survive the baking sun at low tide.
We have fouled our nest; it's about time we started to clean it up.
And this flooding, these landslides and washouts, are part of the picture. Clearcutting destabilizes slopes; dead wood encourages fires; roots no longer hold back the water. And it comes rushing down the hillsides, ripping out our roads and homes as it comes.
This isn't the end of sorrows; while we continue as if nature were indestructible, more torrential rains will fall, more snow will melt, more animals will die.
I am still disheartened.
But we must go on. Even if it's just recording what is and soon may not be.
So here's a beaver pond and lodge, surviving the high water.
|The beavers have built their lodge tall, so they still have a dry sleeping space.|
|The back side of the pond. The water has covered the usual crop of waterlilies and reeds. The birds are too far away to be identified.|