Getting Ready for the Rain
It was a perfect New Year’s Day as we walked up to the top of Gaviota Peak, but there was rain on our minds.
“I have seeds to sow for plants that will help keep that hillside down,” said Jeanne, “I want to toss them out there before the rain comes.”
“I have to clear the brush from the channel that empties into the creek,” said Monte.
“I have to stock the pantry,” I said, not wanting to seem any less industrious.
That’s the way it is around here. Through the long dry, windy fire-prone months, we yearn for rain, wish for it, even dream of it. If we are blessed with a brief early shower, all conversation is sprinkled with rain, all nostrils are attuned to it, we claim that the hills look greener already, and the crazy among us have been known to step outside in the morning, face upward, and taste.
But then the rain arrives in earnest. Listening to reports of a big storm heading our way, we brace ourselves, fret, and prepare...like folks back East awaiting a blizzard. For although we thirst for it, we have learned that rain generally falls into two categories around here: too little or too much. There’s a too-much storm predicted for Friday.
“So the question is,” says Monte, “do we need to take any steps regarding accessibility?”
He is referring to the Gaviota Creek crossing, which is likely to flood, as it does nearly every year, and be rendered impassable. And that’s always an interesting situation. The trick is to find yourself on the “right” side of the creek, which in my interpretation is here, home on the Ranch, with pantry stocked and some good books to read. Sometimes it’s just a matter of a few hours before the rain stops and the earth can absorb it and access is restored.
Other times -- those too-much times -- a virtual river will form where the crossing is supposed to be, moving branchy debris in its rushing brown water, and the surrounding area by the state park will be a plain of mud and muck. We can be stranded for days when this occurs, and only those desperate to leave will walk across the railroad trestle to the 101, a useless escape unless one had the presence of mind to leave a car parked on the other side, which is what Monte is already considering. He still has vacation time, but Xander, our guest, has to board a flight on Saturday.
And so the rain is preceded by a certain period of anxiety. There is a silly sputtering of motions designed to feign control, but mostly we just watch the sky and see our true significance. It is gray right now but still holds light behind its screen, and the bit of sea that I can see is white and waiting, and there is a ghostly outline of Santa Rosa Island barely visible on the horizon.