Possible flooding? not for us!

We came home about a day earlier than we had planned. The weather was going to take a decided turn for the worse according to this forecast and hydrologic advisory that was announced on Tuesday:

Event:

Hydrologic Outlook

Alert:

...Widespread 1 to 2 Inch Rainfall May Lead to River Rises and  Possible Flooding...  A strong system with abundant moisture is expected to produce 1  to 2 inches of rainfall across the area, mainly from late tonight  through late Wednesday night. This rain will fall on soils that  are still moist or wet from recent rains, snowmelt, and continued  below-normal temperatures. This rainfall will likely saturate the  soils once again, resulting in more runoff into area streams and  rivers.  Many rivers and streams remain higher than normal from recent  runoff and flooding, with the Mississippi River still above flood  stage at some locations. Runoff from this mid-week rainfall will  likely cause within bank rises and may produce flooding on some  area rivers and streams later in the week. The runoff may  eventually produce renewed rises along the Mississippi River late  this week into the weekend.  Those living near rivers and streams should closely monitor river  levels Wednesday into this weekend and be prepared to move to  higher ground if necessary.

It didn't look like much was going to be salvageable on Wednesday or Thursday morning, and the cottage we were staying in looked like a basement sump was already discharging constantly. If there was a power outage, life would get hectic and damp very quickly.

Timber Coulee Cottage

Photo by J. Harrington

We had managed to work out many of the kinks we accumulated by having not been casting a fly rod for some time. We had some fun, good meals, interesting countryside to visit and watch Spring arrive. On the drive home we took a scenic route for the Northern half and reconnoitered other possible fishing spots. A couple looked like they might be worth further explorations in the future. Some were overgrown with alders so much that a fly rod might be good for drifting a worm downstream, but not for casting or even dapping.

The snow flakes we saw late in the day confirmed our decision. (At least we were spared the 9"+ Duluth got.) We've driven a convertible with the top down through snow showers, but we haven't yet tried to cast a fly in one.

The Late Wisconsin Spring

By John Koethe

Snow melts into the earth and a gentle breeze   

Loosens the damp gum wrappers, the stale leaves   

Left over from autumn, and the dead brown grass.   

The sky shakes itself out. And the invisible birds   

Winter put away somewhere return, the air relaxes,   

People start to circulate again in twos and threes.   

The dominant feelings are the blue sky, and the year.   

—Memories of other seasons and the billowing wind;   

The light gradually altering from difficult to clear

As a page melts and a photograph develops in the backyard.   

When some men came to tear down the garage across the way   

The light was still clear, but the salt intoxication   

Was already dissipating into the atmosphere of constant day   

April brings, between the isolation and the flowers.   

Now the clouds are lighter, the branches are frosted green,   

And suddenly the season that had seemed so tentative before   

Becomes immediate, so clear the heart breaks and the vibrant   

Air is laced with crystal wires leading back from hell.   

Only the distraction, and the exaggerated sense of care   

Here at the heart of spring—all year long these feelings

Alternately wither and bloom, while a dense abstraction   

Hides them. But now the mental dance of solitude resumes,   

And life seems smaller, placed against the background   

Of this story with the empty, moral quality of an expansive   

Gesture made up out of trees and clouds and air.

The loneliness comes and goes, but the blue holds,   

Permeating the early leaves that flutter in the sunlight   

As the air dances up and down the street. Some kids yell.   

A white dog rolls over on the grass and barks once. And   

Although the incidents vary and the principal figures change,   

Once established, the essential tone and character of a season   

Stays inwardly the same day after day, like a person’s.   

The clouds are frantic. Shadows sweep across the lawn   

And up the side of the house. A dappled sky, a mild blue   

Watercolor light that floats the tense particulars away   

As the distraction starts. Spring here is at first so wary,   

And then so spare that even the birds act like strangers,   

Trying out the strange air with a hesitant chirp or two,   

And then subsiding. But the season intensifies by degrees,   

Imperceptibly, while the colors deepen out of memory,   

The flowers bloom and the thick leaves gleam in the sunlight   

Of another city, in a past which has almost faded into heaven.   

And even though memory always gives back so much more of   

What was there than the mind initially thought it could hold,   

Where will the separation and the ache between the isolated   

Moments go when summer comes and turns this all into a garden?   

Spring here is too subdued: the air is clear with anticipation,   

But its real strength lies in the quiet tension of isolation   

And living patiently, without atonement or regret,

In the eternity of the plain moments, the nest of care   

—Until suddenly, all alone, the mind is lifted upward into   

Light and air and the nothingness of the sky,   

Held there in that vacant, circumstantial blue until,

In the vehemence of a landscape where all the colors disappear,   

The quiet absolution of the spirit quickens into fact,   

And then, into death. But the wind is cool.   

The buds are starting to open on the trees.

Somewhere up in the sky an airplane drones.

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