As we traveled down the gravel road, we came to a wet weather creek that was flowing over the road. Bud judged it to be safe, but we both made a mental note that this was a second warning that we needed to get our stuff in town done quickly and get back soon.
We traveled further, and soon came to a real creek that is much larger. It flows through culverts underneath a cemented road. I wouldn’t necessarily call it a bridge. The creek was rushing, and it’s waters were lapping at the edge of the cement. Here is a picture I took of it this past summer when it looked much friendlier:
(I ate a lot of donuts on this trip. In anticipation of my elimination diet, I threw caution into the wind! I wanted to indulge my donut cravings and get them out of my system before we got back home. My favorite are the Plain Cake Donuts. Bud likes Bavarian Cream, which are sort of a pudding-filled donut.)
When we got to the creek with the cement crossing, it was flowing over it, and looked pretty swift. Bud had just about decided to turn back and take an alternative route, when a lady with a big truck approached us from behind and pulled up beside me on the passenger’s side. I rolled down my window. She told us that she thought it was okay to cross. She asked us if we were going to the cemetery, by chance. I think she was going to give us a ride across the creek. When we told her ‘no,’ she again reassured us that she thought it was okay to cross.
All of the warnings I had ever heard about low water crossings with water rushing over them played in my mind. It’s the same as the warning to never try to beat a train. You can never judge how quickly it’s traveling, and many a doubter has found out the hard way. Same with low water crossings.
We watched the lady cross the creek flowing over the road with ease in her big truck. We have a Chevy Malibu. Bud decided it would be okay to cross it. Before I could say another word, the car was driving through the muddy water. I could hear it surging against the side of the car. My heart was in my throat, and I prayed a quick prayer that the Lord would help us make it across. A rather large log floated by in front of us and I looked at Bud. His back was hunched with his body pressed toward the windshield for a better view; his white knuckles tightly gripped the steering wheel. The car sloshed through the running water toward the other side of the creek.
I breathed a sigh of relief when we made it safely across, and offered a silent prayer of thanks.
When we got home, I found all of the hens in the hen house. Eula was in the nesting box laying an egg. There is a nicer nesting box to the left, but some of them still choose to use the cardboard box we put in there the first week they ever used the hen house.
(If any chicken people wander in here, this is only a temporary house until we can get something else built. It’s definitely not optimal. I’m already dreaming of the castle I want built for them when we have our own house ‘liveable’, and are up there full time to start on the hen house.)
When the hens saw that we were home, they all went out to play in the rain again. There are worms and things stirred up by the rain that don’t normally make an appearance in dry weather. The hens know it’s a good time to hunt.
I took some pictures, straightened things up, and put out a new place mat, food and water bowl I got for my Timbalie Bodine (Simba).
The chickens’ adventure in the rain didn’t last long. They opted to stay inside for the rest of the day. It was getting colder, so I put some suet cakes in the hen house for them.
The Propane people never showed up. For supper, I cooked some ground beef, potatoes and onions in my new pan, and seasoned it with salt, pepper and garlic powder to make Hamburger Hash. I heated water in a pan on the camp stove to wash the dishes.
We were exhausted due to not sleeping well the night before, and we were still recuperating from the long drive up there, too. We were in bed by 6:00 p.m.