In Charge of the Flood

This morning I checked the Bull Shoals Lake level on the computer, then headed down the hill toward the lake on a trail through the woods. Lately, I’ve been making a note of where the water level is on the government land below us. The lake now replaces the broad valley where I love to walk, and the water is up in the trees. As I rounded the last turn toward the water, a Blue Heron made an ungainly takeoff, squawking its displeasure at being rousted from its hunting grounds. Fat frogs did belly flops into the water. They seem to love this rearrangement of land and lake.

Nearby was a Green Trillium I’ve been watching lately. It’s not as showy as its white and red cousins, but rising 15 inches on a single stem, it makes a statement of beauty in the woods. Today the water is lapping at its feet, and its rhizome may already be underwater.

Back up the hill, I stumbled across a newly dug den, with moist, red clay strewn over the ground in front of the 7-inch opening. A wild flood victim most likely moved its family out of the danger zone. This is probably one of many such relocations.

The U. S. Army Corps of Engineers built Bull Shoals Lake in 1952 on the Missouri/Arkansas line as a flood control reservoir. It is vast and beautiful, rugged, and remote. At this writing, the lake is at 693.94 feet above sea level, and the top of the flood pool is 695. That means if we get only 1.06 more feet of water, the lake will go over the dam at Bull Shoals, Arkansas, and the White River below will probably flood. This has been a soggy spring. We’ve had about 34 inches of rain so far this year, nearly 81% of our yearly average of 42 inches in just under five months, with more predicted for this week. In addition to every drizzle or deluge of rain that falls directly into the lake every time it rains, the feeder streams over a considerable distance open their faucets wide and contribute to the flood pool.

Years ago, heavy spring rains resulted in another high lake level. A Little Rock, Arkansas NBC TV station sent a reporter to interview people about the impact of the high water. Positioned on the courthouse steps in our county seat of Gainesville, Missouri, the reporter was poised when an official from the U. S. Army Corps of Engineers opened the door of the courthouse and walked outside. “A lot of people are criticizing you Corps of Engineers managers who are in charge of the lake and its level for your handling of this situation,” he said. “How do you respond to them?”

The engineer paused, then replied respectfully, “Well, their problem is they think that we are in charge. We used to think we were in charge. This year, I think we all learned WHO really IS in charge.”

The interviewer was silent, and the engineer walked away.

The LORD sits enthroned over the flood; 

the LORD is enthroned as King forever.

The LORD gives strength to his people; 

the LORD blesses his people with peace.

Psalm 29:10, 11

Sky Glory

Don called on the way home from work yesterday. "There's a rainbow in the east," he told me. "If you want to take pictures from the other side of the lake, I'll pick you up in a few minutes." Don has a good eye for photographic opportunities, and it's always nice to have a spotter. As mercurial as rainbows can be, I was also grateful that my personal chauffeur had offered to save me a few precious minutes. We drove to the other side of the bridge and clicked a few pictures. In a matter of 3 minutes, it was gone. 

If Don hadn't called, I would have still been sitting at my computer, unaware of the glory in the sky.

The Clouds Hang Poised

Do you know how the clouds hang poised, those wonders of Him who is perfect in knowledge?

Job 37:16

Linking with Skywatch Friday

Morning Glory

Being married to a real estate broker has it's perks, and one of them is getting to see some really nice property. I often go along with Don to shoot pictures for his business, and this morning was among the best. This was shot from the deck of a beautiful home overlooking Bull Shoals Lake.

For more information, click here.

Linking with Skywatch Friday.

Pigmy Rattler

It was pleasant out early this morning when I walked down the hill to the lake, touched the edge of the dock and started back. A few strides up from the dock, I jumped backwards with a small, involuntary scream. Stretched out in the road just ahead of me was a pigmy rattler, about 15" long and an inch in diameter, warming himself in the sun. I had just passed him on the way down, without even noticing. He coiled and shook his rattle at me. I didn't hear the rattle. Those who have heard the sound liken it to the faint buzz of an insect, and there were plenty of insect sounds this morning to compete with it. But I saw him rattling, and the message was clear; he wasn't one to be trifled with. I quickly retreated to a safe distance.

High water in the lake this summer has sent many snakes to higher ground, and this may have been one of the evacuees. There were plenty of rocks around, so I picked up a couple of large ones, weighing my options. I had killed larger copperheads with rocks, but this was a full grown rattlesnake, and he had a certain glint in his eyes that made me think that this might not be a war I wanted to wage.

Pigmy rattlers are the only rattlesnakes we see much around here, and though they are the smallest member of the rattlesnake family, they still pack a powerful punch. Only two days ago I had talked with a friend who had been bitten by a pigmy three weeks earlier, and she was still feeling the effects of the poison. "I have good days and bad days," she said. I thought she was putting a brave face on it.

The snake looked like a target that couldn't be missed, but my history with copperheads had taught me enough to know that what looked like an easy shot might not be so easy under pressure. Even if the percentages were good, I hated to take a chance. I pulled out my cell phone and called Don. "I'll be there," he said, "keep an eye on him." "I will," I assured him.

As I waited, the snake uncoiled and slithered slowly away from me into the brush at the side of the road. This snake redefined camouflage for me; when he stopped moving, I could hardly believe he was there. Fearing that my hit man would be too late, I glanced up the road. Big mistake. When I looked back, the snake was no longer in sight.

Don arrived moments later, his revolver loaded with snake shot, but there was nothing to shoot. We carefully peered into the weeds and brush and decided not to wade in after the rattler. Don drove back home, and I continued my walk, jumping every time a weed moved.

Thankful as I am that I didn't get bit, I was sorry the snake got away, but Don assures me that it was still a good outcome; I didn't miss with a rock, and he didn't miss with a revolver.

Linking with Weekend Reflections

Sky Dragons and a Million Dollar Bridge

When the Theodosia Bridge was completed in 1952, it was called "The Million Dollar Bridge". A few years ago, the government mandated that the old paint be removed and replaced with one that was more environmentally friendly, and the new paint job cost more than it did to build the bridge.  The material didn't hold up as well as the original, and it's slated to be painted again soon.  They're estimating four million this time.

Aside from all of that, it certainly looked like a Four Million Dollar bridge this morning,

enveloped in sun-lit fog.

The breeze was constantly changing the formation of the fog, 

swirling it to form hawks and dragons...

before the sun started to burn its way through, casting its gold on the water.

A window in the fog revealed distant hilltops.

Nearby, a fisherman had parked his boat and trailer, and was out on the chilly water, 

but in this particular spot, it was only God and me 

and a lone gull, soaring over the bridge.

It wasn't a bad way to start the day.

I headed home through the fog, and contrary to appearances, 

the other end of the bridge was still in place.

Priceless.

Linking with Weekly Top Shot
and Skywatch Friday

Gathering Storm

Click on photo for a larger view.

This isn't a typical Ozark August scene.  Last summer, under the sky's blank blue canvas, arid ground crunched underfoot, and weeds wilted from lack of moisture.  Now the days are enlivened with thunder and lightning and rain pouring from the clouds.

It's said that the Eskimos have a dozen different terms for snow.  We already have a couple for rain: gully-washer and toad-choaker, but if this stretch continues, our vocabulary may sprout a few more.  

Any suggestions?

Linking with
Weekly Top Shot
and Skywatch Friday

Front Row Seats

Late afternoon thundershowers washed over our part of the Ozarks recently. 

 Campers at the park at Theodosia on Bull Shoals Lake 

had front row seats to glimpse God's majesty

brushed over the sky.

The heavens proclaim the glory of God.

The skies display His craftsmanship.

Psalm 19:1

Linking with Skywatch Friday 

and Tuesday Muse

Light From Above

The sky was clear before dawn under a star-studded canopy,

Orion shining so bright overhead

you could almost touch the sword hanging from his belt.

As cool air settled in,

the lake, still warm from the sun, 

put on a new robe...

reflected sky and fog and grass...

soothed the memory of the harsh summer.

Trees vanished in the mist, 

then reappeared like the spare brush strokes of a Japanese ink painting.

On the hilltop, the early light streamed through the trees,

transforming the woods into a place of wonder...

and worship.

Linking with Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood
and
Weekly Top Shot

Perpetual Autumn

Delicious autumn!

My very soul is wedded to it,

and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth

seeking the successive autumns.

-George Eliot

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Gone Fishin'

Don came home early from work yesterday so he could go fishing, and since there was too much on my desk to get finished anyway, I decided to go with him. I've never exactly taken to fishing. Unlike me, Don, who is a true fisherman, says every time he throws out the line, he's expecting to catch something. Go figure.

But fishing is a good excuse to be on the water, and it was a beautiful day for that. The only sounds were distant cows and crows, the zing of the line released from the rod, the "plop" of the lure hitting the surface of the lake, and the steady rhythmic sound of water lapping against the shore and the side of the boat.

On this trip, despite Don's expectations, we didn't come home with any fish for the pan, but what we did find was even better. 

"Many men go fishing all of their lives

 without knowing it is not fish they are after."

-Henry David Thoreau

Two Seasons

Where I grew up in Washington and Northern California, with forests dominated by evergreens, the changes in the seasons were subtle.  One of the delights of living here in the Ozarks is watching the dramatic change of the scenery from season to season.  This is Game Warden Cove on Bull Shoals Lake, in summer and autumn.  For a winter view, and the bizarre story of how the cove got its name, click here.

Hillbilly Fire Drill

It's been beautiful lately; yesterday, the lake mirrored puffy white clouds.  But infusing everything is the heat, saturated and intense.

Don had to get his boat motor serviced this week, which necessitated getting it off the lift on the boat dock, where it generally stays, on to its trailer, and to a town some 60 miles away.  The service completed, he brought it home, where of course, it had to be launched off the trailer to get it back to the dock.

When he asked me to help him yesterday morning, I agreed, but silently wondered how it was going to fit in an already busy day.  Don had to get to work early, so we went first thing in the morning.  As we left, he assured me, "If we don't get into a hillbilly fire drill, this won't take long."  Maybe he shouldn't have said that. 

We drove across the lake, and Don, after pulling up and back a half dozen times, got the boat into a good position to launch.  I slipped into the driver's seat as he unhooked the strap to the boat and climbed in.  Backing the truck slowly, I hit the brakes on his signal. That's when the boat was supposed to slip gracefully into the water, but something was holding it up.  It turned, as if on an axis, still attached to the trailer.  It was then Don remembered the extra safety strap that a friend had attached for him.  The problem was getting enough slack to be able to disattach it.  Thinking I might be able to help, I took off my Timex and waded into the water, clothes and all, just as Don, up to his waist in water and balancing on the edge of the trailer, finally freed the boat.  While I held the boat in place, he maneuvered it into position, and finally powered off to the dock.  The cost so far: Don's watch and old billfold, and the cell phone I retrieved from my pocket, dripping wet.

I made my way home with the truck, the trailer following so nicely that I hardly knew it was behind me.  As I turned into the driveway, I couldn't see the trailer, and something felt funny, so I stopped and went back to look.  What I saw astonished me.  In my wake was a pile of rubble where the fence used to be.  I had taken out a good 18 feet of fencing, an oak corner post, 2 braces, and 2 street signs.  On the back of the trailer, metal was twisted into a bizarre shape, wires were loose, and a taillight was broken.

Don was a prince about the carnage I had caused, assuring me that the trailer could be fixed, and the fence, well, that old thing needed to be replaced anyway.  And that, I like to think, is a good dose of Ozark grace.

Morning Color

Before sunrise this morning, the sky was brilliant, and across the lake a few drops of rain teased the thirsty ground.  To the south, a rainbow appeared, so I followed it and set up in front of Cookie's Restaurant to take a few pictures.  In the western sky, rows of cotton ball clouds were tinged with pink.  From the restaurant, I could hear the early breakfast crew exclaiming over the beauty, and before long, the intoxicating aroma of bacon drifted out on the breeze.  The brilliance was short lived; by the time the sun appeared, the orange sky was replaced by a flat blue-gray, and the pink clouds and rainbow had faded away.  If God can pack that much beauty into a small amount of time and space, imagine what He will do with eternity.

A Place to Swim

The water in the cove near us, where Barley often swims, is up in the trees now, and it's still covered with flotsam, so this morning before breakfast I took him across the lake where the water is clear.  I threw sticks for him, and he swam after them, shaking vigorously after each retrieve.  When he was tired, he trotted up to the car with his stick, still dripping like a loaded sponge.  The sun was just up, lighting the clouds to the south, and a small breeze made the morning most pleasant.  There was just enough time to take a few pictures before breakfast.  These were taken from near the Theodosia bridge, and to give a little perspective on the high water, the small tree out in the middle of the water belongs on the bank.

The lake at 37 feet above normal is beautiful, and strikingly different.  Barley seems blissfully unaware of all this.  He'll be content as long as there's still a place to swim after a stick.

High Water

We took a quick trip to St. Louis this week, just an overnighter, and one of my friends there mentioned that she was hoping to see pictures of the high water here.  She was referring to the dramatic rise in Bull Shoals Lake in the past few weeks.  Normal pool for Bull Shoals is 654 feet above sea level, and the top of the dam at Bull Shoals, Arkansas is 695 feet above sea level.  The lake reached that level in 2008, and we thought that was the highest it could go.  We were wrong.  Last month it reached 696.5 feet, a result of the manipulation of flood gates at the dam and the high volume of water pouring into the lake.  

Technicalities aside, this lake is really beautiful when it's high like this.  Water comes up into the trees, and only land that belongs to the government is flooded.   

This is Game Warden Cove, near our place.

Here's the lake from the other side in 2009, at a more normal level.  This information might not be that thrilling for everybody, so, Janet from St. Louis, I hope you get to read it.  As for me, Mission Accomplished.  

Photo Ops

Before sunup yesterday morning, Don and I left for Springfield, where Don had an eye doctor appointment.  Outside the air had been scrubbed clean by the overnight rain, and a whip-poor-will sang the final cadences of the night shift.

Along the way, fog blanketed the bottoms, and drifted through the woods, making the trees stand out like sentries in the mist.  And everywhere, there was water.  It flowed along the highway and streamed out of the rocks.  Small creeks had become rivers, swift and muddy; near Forsyth, Beaver Creek had escaped its bounds and filled the valley, covering the park.  In town, the tennis courts were about 15 feet underwater.

I snapped a few pictures from the car window, but there wasn't time to stop long.  So this morning I went to the lake before sunrise, hoping to capture the same thing when there was more time to compose.  However, in nature, as in life, one seldom gets "overs".  There wasn't much fog and the sunrise was muted.  I took a few pictures anyway, just for drill.  

Meanwhile, Barley stood to the side, knee deep in the water, begging me to throw a stick for him to retrieve.  I obliged him, then went back to my camera, and just started to shoot again when he walked into the picture and sat down in the water precisely in line with the sunrise.  He had apparently sensed my need, and obliged me with the best photo op of the morning.  What a dog!       

Visitors

My brother and sister-in-law are visiting from Albuquerque and they came at a good time of year, when the woods are lush with new green, birds and wildflowers abound, and small streams are still running after the rains.  They love many of the same things we do about this place; from inside the windows we watch turkeys and deer and bright yellow gold finches.  They are also fascinated by the squirrels, which are so abundant here that we scarcely notice them any more.

Saturday, a sun dappled trail invited us into the woods and down to the creek bed, but when we arrived at the hollow, the lake had beat us there.  Bull Shoals Lake is now nearly 35 feet above normal pool and rising, and the hollow is filled with chocolate colored water.  Eventually, it will recede, and in the meantime, under all that muddy water, a quiet stream bides its time.

Rain returned that evening, seeming like it wasn't planning to quit, but we had plenty to catch up on, and table games to play, and my sister-in-law and I had bread to bake, and an internet cooking show to plan, at least in our imagination.  Whatever else happens, we laughed enough to fill a couple of hours of footage.  Stay tuned...

Six Days in April

Barley helps with the lake cleanup.

It's quiet outside tonight; the sky is taking a respite after 6 days of rain. Our boots are parked at the front door; raincoats are draped over chairs in the dining room, and when we go to the grocery store in our olive green rubber Northerner boots, no one stares at us. The little red warning light on our weather radio has been on so much lately, I was beginning to think it was stuck, first warning for severe thunderstorms, then flooding, and today tornado. Fortunately, no tornados have developed, and though we won't be dealing with flooding at our house on the hill, plenty of people in this area will be. 

Have I mentioned that Don likes to count things? He has 3 rain gauges, all within a mile of the Theodosia bridge, and every time it rains he takes the average of the 3 and posts it on his calendar, so at least in theory, he gets a pretty accurate reading of how much rain has fallen at the bridge. Since last Tuesday, we've had over 15" of rain. In the same time, Bull Shoals Lake has come up 15 1/2' and is still rising. Our average annual rainfall is 43", so in the last 6 days, we've received more than a third of what we usually get in a year.

The lake is muddy and runoff from the creeks has washed down dead limbs, which gather on the surface in large drifts. Waterfalls are everywhere. Frogs sing in the ponds, delighted with their good fortune. A pair of wood ducks dropped into our yard when all this was starting; we've seen them in a big hollow tree behind the house, and heard them talking to each other on the big pond. They must think they have found a paradise, where it rains every day, and the ponds are full. They needn't concern themselves with the lack of rain tonight. There's more on the way.

Game Warden Cove

In the mid 1950's, not long after Bull Shoals lake was built, a game warden, new to the county, came to this hollow one evening to check the licenses of some fishermen there.(Like they'd ever owned one.)  They apparently didn't appreciate his request, because they wrapped him up in barbed wire and left him there for the night.  Fortunately, it wasn't as cold that night as it is now, and the only serious damage was to the warden's ego, but the story got around quickly, and the locals started calling the place Game Warden Cove.  The name stuck, and if you get to the Theodosia part of Bull Shoals Lake, ask any local how to find Game Warden Cove.  Some of them don't even know how it got it's name.