My internet has been my intermittentnet today. I think I'll coin that term and beat it like a dead horse. WAIT! Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not beat dead horses. It's just an expression. Like intermittentnet. Which I am going to use like Gretchen Wieners trying to make FETCH happen!
Yes, the rains have come. And gone. And come again. It looks like a pattern all week. The creeks have risen.
WHOOPSIE! THAT was eerie! I just heard The Pony say, "Coming." Like he does when I call to him from my dark basement lair to get up off his cheap couch and fetch something or answer a question about irony. But The Pony is not here! So I called out, "Did you say something to me?" For Farmer H, you know, in case he was throwing his voice like a prankster, which he is not. No answer. Last I heard of Farmer H, he was on his way out through the basement workshop to let five inches of water out of Poolio. Huh. That certainly was strange. The TV isn't even on, since I am lairing and not reclining at the moment. Weird. Let the record show that happened at 8:13 p.m.
Anyhoo...our creek had been out of its banks and up in our gravel road this morning, but was back down by 11:00 so I could drive on it. The road, silly, not the creek. Even Mrs. Hillbilly Mom can't drive on water. I knew enough to take the long way to town and avoid other road flooding a HIGH-water bridge. At least the mailman knew enough to come in the back way.
So, I went to town to mail a letter to The Pony, and continued on to the bank for our weekly cash allowance in case the water is up tomorrow. I stopped by Save A Lot, but not the regular one where I prefer to shop. I went to the one where my mom said they GYPPED her on her slaw. It's on my way, and saved me ten minutes. I got a great parking place, right on the end of the front row, except when I came out I was no longer the end, because one of those scofflaw people had parked next to me and made their own very special parking space for their very special snowflake self.
Putting the purchases in T-Hoe was a challenge, because that parking lot was filled with water. On the way in, I could go across that non-parking space, which was higher ground, and hold up my pantslegs. But coming out with the cart, I was wading like those Ocean Spray cranberry guys. NOT THE STUPID ONE!
When Farmer H got home this evening, he said, "That was kind of scary, coming over the little bridge. Water was WAY over it!" Let the record show that this is a six-foot-wide concrete dip crossing a little tiny fork of the main creek. It dips deep, and he should have known better than to cross it. "The one by our neighbor's barn was over, too!" Which is never over, except when the water first comes up, and it goes down within an hour or two, usually. Still, Farmer H should have known better.
He needs to take better care of himself. I have precious few people to write about lately!
Yeah, if Farmer H went on down the current on a little creek adventure, you'd miss out on some great writing material.
ReplyDeleteMaybe you should put an ankle bracelet on him, and when he heads towards a bridge you know is not a good idea, you can call him and tell him where to go...'cause ALL men need to be told where to go occasionally.
Sioux,
ReplyDeleteDon't I know it! Because he would definitely be without a paddle.
That would not work for Farmer H. I could zap him with the ankle bracelet, but he would say, out loud, to nobody in particular, only to hear himself speak, "Ouch. That ankle bracelet is setting my leg on fire! I'll just dip it in the creek for a few minutes..."