Boys will be boys

Despite the risk that my blog will actually sprout gills and webbed feet, I have to write about rain again. With Ciara well and truly over, the storm visiting us the last two days was Dennis. He came, he raged, he flooded. He is still flooding.

We live on the top of the hill overlooking the reservoir. That alone means that except a few puddles in the garden and in the chicken run (very muddy eggs) we are pretty safe from flooding. However.

A few days ago our lovely neighbour from below us (you see where this is going?) knocked on our door and said that they were in a bit of a trouble down there. What he meant was that the water that normally gets soaked away has been pooling at the bottom of our field, crossing under the hedge and rushing down their drive straight to their front door. They noticed it in time, before it entered their beautiful house.

So out got the farmers. My dear M and his brother brought out the water pump to see where the problem is. I could have told them that the problem was in the skies above us, not under our feet… And they brought spades. And started digging and pumping, digging and pumping and on and on and on. In the end ‘the boys’, as our neighbour sweetly called them, came up with a brilliant idea. To direct the water away from the house into the neatly manicured lawn.

And that’s where everything changed – the minute the decision was made, we all reverted to childhood and started ‘redirecting’ the stream coming from the blackcurrant field. The grown men turned into boys who made new ways for the rain water. The satisfaction on their faces spoke about the joy they were reliving. (I must admit that I couldn’t resist making a little canal with my boots) Despite the never ending rain and gales everyone felt that disaster was averted. We stopped for tea and cake.

F22EBEFA-5842-4D0B-9350-9EDDDFC9632BA day later I asked my brother-in-law why were we walking our dogs around every field on the waterlogged farm. We knew it was wet and there would be rivers rushing through the canals and pipes around each field. No need to check them all!

He simply replied: ‘I like drains.’


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