Two weeks ago this campground did its best to absorb heavy rainfall that rolled up suddenly and persisted longer than expected. Muddy runoff eventually overwhelmed the place, prompting our hosts to tackle improving drainage upstream from the park.
They cleared and widened the dry creek bed southeast of the campground and added another culvert. And today, after steady rain all last night, their hard work seems to be paying off — the creek ran strong, maybe a foot deep, and the runoff has been brought under control.
Oh, it’s definitely still soggy ’round here. There’s standing water in spots and the mat outside our door sits in its own puddle, but I’m pleased to report that this time Ernie doesn’t have a moat.
We’re hoping that the rain stops and most of the standing water goes away before temperatures tumble into the low teens tonight. Otherwise we’ll be looking at some treacherous footing in the park tomorrow.
So it’s New Year’s Day. As I said at this time last year I don’t party the night before, I don’t do the whole “resolutions” thing and I’m not inclined to assign any great personal significance to the turning of a calendar page.
Deb and I enjoy a traditional New Year’s meal — cabbage, beans and pork. That’s the extent of our holiday observance.
For me, the First of January is just another day. And if I do it right, today (like every day) holds all the promise I could ask for.
I’ve been watching folks both indict 2021 as The Worst Year Ever and express their unreserved pessimism about 2022. I dunno about you, but that sounds to me like a recipe for a shitty year (and probably a shitty life).
Yes, there’s much that I can’t control. I have no power over life and death, political gymnastics, cultural convulsions, acts of Nature or the actions of others. I do, however, have absolute authority over my own actions and, most important, over how I choose to react to external events.
When Deb and I talk about our 2021 — externally the same year that y’all lived through — we smile. We had challenges and upsets and disappointments and way too many reasons to grieve, and yet we had The Best Year of Our Lives.
It’s not because we traveled — I mean, there were no guarantees that our odyssey would be a smashing success. It’s because we chose to have The Best Year of Our Lives regardless of the scenery.
The Year 2021 wasn’t promised to us. That we saw the sun rise each and every day was a gift we refused to squander (or diminish by shifting blame elsewhere because it wasn’t perfect). We had a great year because we created a great year.
If you check-in here on January 1st, 2023, you shouldn’t be surprised to find me writing about 2022 as The Best Year of Our Lives. It’s gonna be a big one — and it starts right now with a bowl of Deb’s andouille-and-black-eyed-peas gumbo, a plate of vinegar slaw and a pint of bourbon-barrel-aged stout.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.