La Casa de Tontería (the House of Nonsense to anglophones) sits not far outside the floodplain.* This spring has been unusually, if not historically, waterlogged. Oldsters talk of the high water levels of the ’80s, when kids walked onto their front lawns and splashed in knee high water because the St. Clair River passed over sea walls and crept up toward houses.
For me, it’s been a little inconvenient; e.g. changing clothes because my trousers were soaked to the knees when I retrieved my car from the impromptu creek alongside the house. The rain has done amazing things for the garden. Already the rhubarb is enormous and the coral bells** overwhelm their pots.
But lately it’s like living in a rainforest, particularly today when two separate thunderstorms turned afternoon to twilight. The winds sent the helicopter-like maple seeds and clumps of green leaves plummeting onto walks and decks. The gutters are being force-cleaned as the sheer volume of water pushes everything else out. The recycling crew is picking up bins grown heavier with of sodden paper products.
The Middle School Mafia has been watching the skies and weather forecasts anxiously. Not only does lightning curtail their usual street carousing, but Tuesday is their end-of-year trip to the beach. Their principal already warned then that if they got any new suspensions (the old being Water Under the Bridge), they would be stuck in the Factory with… me.
Yes, I am the designated hitter*** for my brave colleagues who are chaperoning the trip.
* A few years after getting the Mortgage, I anxiously waited for the FEMA-redrawn flood maps. Those few yards have meant no flood insurance requirement for me.
** Heuchera americana and a variety called “Starry night” if I recall.
***This is a baseball term. No actual Young Humans will be harmed.