ONGOING FLOOD PAGE HERE.
Poor Greta (cat). Poor mouse. For two days the game's been afoot up here in my room. Greta's been in seventh heaven with her new playmate. The mouse ran behind the bookcase. Greta running from side to side of it. The mouse under the poems crate. Greta meditating the night away, crouched by and watching. But this morning Sally (Border collie) put an end to it, snip-snap, let's get this over with. And the mutilated rodent flushed away, and Greta bereft and searching.
But Sally naps in peace.
Yesterday morning I twice walked the big U--first east to the abandoned neighbor's place, and across their bridge, then back west to the flooded pasture--with oats and hay. Then again, and climbed the ridge and hiked across to where N's pickup waited on the upper road. He drove me around about 14 miles to my post office. I mailed away books, picked up my mail, bought us sandwiches at the little deli there, and then he drove me into town, 20 miles from there, where I deposited my pay in the machine, and mailed away rent checks. I stocked up on mailers at the stationer's.
Then back to the upper road, and hiking across the soft muddy plateau with my bundles, and sidewise down the ridgeside and over to the bridge and back to my house. The water had gone down quite a bit. I thought I'd cash it in for the day, changed out of muddy clothes and into pajamas at 4, tea and resting with Greta on my upstairs bed. I started to doze whe the phone rang--sheriff, wanting to know our status. Do I have firewood in case the power goes out? Do I have space to put people up should anyone lose their home? Does anyone here need medicine? Do I have a way to get out if I have to--a friend who can help? He said several agencies and crews were trying to solve the washed-out road dilemma. But there was no way to know how long it would be before we can drive out. But with 20 or so families trapped down here, I imagine it shouldn't be too long.
When I got off the phone with the sheriff I looked out and discovered the llamas had indeed found the washed-out gap in the fence, and had escaped. I couldn't see them anywhere. My heart sank. When I looked a few minutes later, though, I saw them not far from the opening on the other side of it. If I could dress and hike over there I might get them back. I carried two sacks full of hay down to the bridge and across and back to the pasture. Just spotting me was enough to bring Lorenzo running home. But Fernando, slow and considered in all things, was not so easily lured. Lorenzo was disappointed, anyway, having expected oats. I marched home again, and encountered a very muddy beaver on the river bank. Got a photo before he slid back into the flow.
I thought I might be able to do something after all to prevent the llamas from leaving. At the house I put a roll of baling wire, my fencing tool/wire cutters, work gloves, a handful of Bungie cords, and a Tupperware bowl of oats in a sack. I dug out my fencepost-pounder and threw it in the leather sling we use for carrying firewood. And set off, trudging in my high rubber boots that are too big.
By the time I reached the fence gap both llamas were out again. It took some doing but I managed to intimidate them back over the wire and into their muddy pasture. Then I set about solving the fence problem. I cut five fenceposts away from the wire they were attached to--wire that was so heavy with mud and debris I couldn't lift it--and pounded them upright deep into the muck. Cutting the wire away consumed a lot of time and was frustrating. I soaked my gloves through. After the posts were standing, I strung a single strand of barbed wire across the tops of the posts as far as I could go in the mud, sinking in to my knees at one point and struggling back out. Then I dangled driftwood from the strand between each post to mimic a fence. It was getting dark. I was wet and cold and exhausted. I couldn't carry the tools on the hike back, so I stacked them on higher ground near where I'd been working and wended my way home. I stopped en route to ply the bad llamas with handsful of oats, so they'd know they could count on me, and should stick around. (They shouldn't be eating so much grain, being unable to digest it in quantity, but they do love it.) On the way back I surprised the beaver again. He was swimming in what was left of the big pond, kept diving down with great loud tail-slaps.
Reached the house. Head-to-toe mud. Showered. Supped with brother. Crashed.
Woke early today and saw the llamas are still confined. It rained most of the night but the water is lower than ever, opening routes to more fence gaps. Soon I'll have to resume repairs. I'll try to take my brother along with me. It's a long hike through the muck, and there are some sketchy places to navigate. But he could empty the collapsed stone jack--remove all the large stones from the wire cage--while I make more pseudo-fences. With his help I may be able to lift the fencewire out of the muck. And carry the tools back home.
I look out now--llamas are nowhere in sight, and it's raining again. I can't pull on my rubber boots over the blisters.
9:20:34 AM 
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