The Irony of Filling Water Bottles in the Face of Flood

The Irony of Filling Water Bottles in the Face of Flood
Photo by Ameen Fahmy on Unsplash

In our part of the world, everyone I know is just about done with rain for, oh, the next six months. We’ve had record-breaking rainfall this summer as the mildew on my porch rockers testifies. (Seriously, they are in the open air, people, and still mildew.)

So the fact that we have a pretty good potential for some serious rain – this morning’s forecasts range from 4 inches to 30 inches – is not making even this rain-loving woman happy.  Still, we will be spared the worst of Florence’s lashing, and for that, I am grateful even as I know many will suffer mightily over the next few months because of this storm.

I’m not a worrier though. I don’t really get fearful about a lot of things, this storm included. But I am a planner – give me a slightly different perspective on the world, and I’d be a prepper, go bag and all. I’ve had a list of things to get done – fill bath tubs, make beds for potential evacuees, flip over mildew-stained rocking chairs – for several days now.  Planning is my way of dealing with my anxiety.

This morning, after seeing that the storm could re-curve and pour down on us again this weekend, I began filling water bottles with our well water. We bought some water earlier in the week, and Philip and I will drink that. The animals can drink from our rain barrels and sip from the rivers that will arrive in old spring flows all over the pasture.

But Milo, well, his tummy has only had our water – with one slip on my part – and so he needs our water for his bottles. (And it’s not really recommended to have him drink from puddles.) Given that we have a well and that we might lose power for a few days, I’m stocking up like we’re the farmhouse everyone flees to in all those zombie films.

This small task is good because it gives me something to do to prepare, and when I prepare, I pray.  Seems like a fair amount of praying is useful now.

If you’re in the path of Florence, I’m holding you up. If you need a place to go, we have beds and couches, and if we use all those, sleeping bags on the barn floor would welcome.  No zombies required.

Be wise, friends. Stay safe. Help those who can’t help themselves. Check in when you can.

I’m off to fill another empty milk jug.

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