Things to do in Syria when it rains.

Where did this storm come from? The storm after Floyd.

I left the school at 9pm and drove north in blinding rain. So much water on the roads, it was not safe to go faster than 45 mph.

When I peeled off to 670, some of the standing water was up to my hubcaps, and I had to swerve around a smashed tree. There was not any wind or thunder or lightning. Just this ominous, straight-down blanket of water. Passing Criglersville, my speed slowed to 25 and then to 15. I simply could not see what was in the road due to the water, and sheets of splash kept covering the windshield.

At ten o'clock, Reilly O'Dog and I finally made it to Dorsey House. The workmen had pleaded with me to remove my office, a task I dreaded mightily. I had promised to do it Wednesday night regardless of how late I came home.

When we arrived, the first thing I became aware of in spite of the violent rain, was the grinding roar of the Rose River. I parked my truck in the front yard to load up my computer system (in the rain) and my files and other necessaries. The water was 6 to 8 inches deep over my lawn. It occurred to me that I had better HURRY up and remove my equipment before the river jumped her banks and prevented me from moving my vehicle.

When I finished packing, I drove the truck up to the Syria Mercantile and left it in the parking lot, believing that it would be safer in the event of a flood. I needed to go home to take care of my horse.

Even thought it was now midnight, there were several cars parked at the Syria Store. Local people had left their homes up river to sleep in their cars, in fear of not being able to get out if the river flooded. I invited the nearest occupants to sleep over at the Brown House, but they declined, stating that they felt just fine sleeping in their auto.

Back, through a now slashing, cold wind. It just came howling up right at midnight, and the temperature plummeted with the wind's onslaught. I was pretty worried about Tez. He was wet, cold, shivery, and inclined to kick my head off in the pasture. "leave me alone," seemed to be the idea. I guess he just wanted to tuff it out afoot.

I put Tez in his stall to dry off and warm up. I didn't want him standing in 6 inches of water on the ground all night, and the stall is dry and out of the wind. Of course, he was royally P.O.d at this and threw a tantrum in his stall. Every time I needed to go to the house to work (or warm up), he would get very noise and try to leave the stall.

So, Reilly and I put on our warm overpants and a dry jacket, grabbed a book, and went out to keep Tez company, even if it meant staying with him all night. Tez does not like his stall. The wind tears at the tin roof and makes noise. The walnut trees rain down bombs on the sheet metal. It would not be a very restful night. I used Reilly O'Dog as my pillow to try and nap until the storm wound down. We read and talked to the horse to keep him sane. He quieted down a bit with us there, but would become very afraid if we left him alone.

There was this very fearsome roaring noise that made me think that the river really was seeking extraordinary freedom, but it was simply the distorted noise of the storm from inside our makeshift shelter.

At 2am, Mother Nature's little helpers left to go pester some other valley. The sky began to clear, and I felt it was safe to put Tez back out in the pasture and go sleep in my own bed.

We all made it through okay. Tez has one bad bruise on a rear leg which will keep him stiff and sore for the week, but there is no swelling, and he is full weight bearing on the leg. Still, I know it is really bothering him because he clamps his tail down when I run my hand over it. Seems he ran into his hay manger while pivoting in the stall. He did a lot of that. Pivoting. And yelling. Pawing, thunking his hooves against the walls. Trying to climb out the window.

This morning, driving into Charlottesville, my mind was simply fried by the change to our valley. The Rose River must be a full 200 feet wide in places now. Lots of water, white rapids spraying up against the rocks. My fishing hole across from the house resembles the more challenging hydraulics on the Youghioheny River. My cascading cataract is a raging fiend. The high water mark logs are missing. The bank is so deeply eroded that I am afraid to stand on it. The water must be doing about 40mph, and tons of it moving per second. Awesome. Provocative. Threatening. Noisy.

My little neighbor stream. I listen to her voice all winter and summer. I hear it change every day. I always hear it and never take it for granted, because this little stream is so personal to me. Little stream, my ass. If you fell in at my house, you would not survive the trip. She's a man eater now. I won't even let Reilly go down on the bank. It is too scary.

In need of sleep, and sleeping at the Brown House.
Susie