Winter in this part of California means rain, and lots of it. In fact, we've had rain every day for two weeks. And we're not talkin' desert sprinkle-sprinkle kind of rain, we're talking the river overfloweth kind of rain.
I didn't properly tend to my little vegetable garden before the rain started; it's in ugly shape. There are tomatoes, zucchini, and peppers molding on the vine, and weeds coming up in every nook and cranny. It's as if every weed seed that ever hit the ground has simultaneously recognized the wet weather as a sign that Providence approves of their plans to cumber my ground. Still, a single chard has flourished in the conditions (I thought the gopher got 'em all!), and a couple of beets have extended their green flags of approval. Every lawn in the neighborhood is sporting glorious crops of mushrooms and wood sorrel, and the junipers are absolutely packed with little finches.
Near our home is a small protected waterway, Alameda Creek, which runs from a little canyon to the east, through the city, and into the San Francisco Bay. Because the creek runs almost entirely through municipal areas its banks are very high and regular. The creek bed is wide and flat, full of grasses and river willow, attracting the local deer population for food and drink. There are several kinds of tall water birds, egrets, herons, and the like. Fat, meter long catfish skim the bottom of the deeper pools, snakes and muskrats fill in the gaps. The creek is usually very slow and rather lazy looking. Yesterday I crossed the creek, which no longer looked like a creek, but a fast, brown river. Every street drain in the city drains to the creek, which drains to the bay. The water was so deep all the little river willows were covered. I wondered where the deer, muskrats, snakes and catfish go when the creek is this full. When the rain comes in this heavy, do they know it's time to move?
The rain has sent ant colonies indoors. A potted plant on my dresser was turned into a refugee camp. All the little ant cousins and neighbors brought their bedrolls and babies to camp out and wait out the rain. In the end, I had to ask them to move on. I felt pretty bad about it, but it turns out they wanted more and more space, and I didn't really have it to give them. (I rather felt like a mean Missourian telling the Saints to keep on walking.) I took the plant out doors, and flooded it. The ants came pouring out with their babies and bedrolls like a hurricane evacuation in progress. They followed the hose bridge I'd set up for them as far as the jasmine bush, where it looks like they will be able to colonize safely. There shouldn't be anyone to "hurt or make afraid" while they live there. And a jasmine bush really does seem a Zion-like place to live, doesn't it?
Well, well, then. There is supposed to be sun the rest of the week. That should be nice for everybody.
