HOW HIGH'S THE WATER, MAMA?

HIGH WATER IN THE FISH CREEK SLOUGH...

...HAS CAUSED DIEBACK OF THE WOODY PLANTS

Tuesday, 8:00 AM.  60 degrees F at the ferry dock, 58 on the back porch.  Wind variable and calm, the sky overcast.  The humidity is 94%, the barometer 30.10" and steady for now.  The week will again be cool, with mixed skies and chances of rain.
   We have had a continually wet spring and summer, resulting in high water levels in lakes and river sloughs.  This has nothing to do with the Gulf Coast hurricane, but for us has resulted in dieback of woody plants in river sloughs, and the favoring of water loving grasses and cattails, and with other ecological changes (I'm sure it is favoring muskrats and beavers as well).
   As is always the case, changes in the environment favor one thing over another. Not to trivialize human suffering, but perhaps a Johnny Cash moment is in order for The Chequamegon Bay area, if not for Texas:

"Five Feet High And Rising"

My mama always taught me that good things come from adversity if we put our faith in the Lord.
We couldn't see much good in the flood waters when they 
were causing us to have to leave home, 
But when the water went down, we found that it had washed a load of rich black bottom dirt across our land. The following year we had the best cotton crop we'd ever had.

I remember hearing: 

How high's the water, mama?
Two feet high and risin'
How high's the water, papa? 
Two feet high and risin'

We can make it to the road in a homemade boat
That's the only thing we got left that'll float
It's already over all the wheat and the oats, 
Two feet high and risin'

How high's the water, mama? 
Three feet high and risin'
How high's the water, papa? 
Three feet high and risin'

Well, the hives are gone, 
I've lost my bees
The chickens are sleepin'
In the willow trees
Cow's in water up past her knees, 
Three feet high and risin'

How high's the water, mama? 
Four feet high and risin'
How high's the water, papa? 
Four feet high and risin'

Hey, come look through the window pane,
The bus is comin', gonna take us to the train
Looks like we'll be blessed with a little more rain, 
4 feet high and risin'

How high's the water, mama? 
Five feet high and risin'
How high's the water, papa? 
Five feet high and risin'

Well, the rails are washed out north of town
We gotta head for higher ground
We can't come back till the water comes down, 
Five feet high and risin'

Well, it's five feet high and risin'

   I remember, as a young man, wondering what the ruler-like markers were for along the roadsides the first time I saw them in the hills of Missouri and Arkansas; I found out during the first torrential rain that they were meant to warn of the depth of the water over the road.
   How high's the water, Mama?