The water, she is rising.
Where we live - sandwiched between the river and a giant watershed on an admittedly pretty piece of land - floods in spring and fall. A lot. Often. Whatever.
While it's beautiful - look! The trees! They're surrounded by water! It's hauntingly lovely! And the ducks! Watch them paddle around the meadow! - it's draining (yes, bad pun) to live in a spot where the main concern two seasons of the year is 'How wet is it going to get?'
Last flood (a few years back) we had a young beaver come swimming into the woodshed, carefully select a piece of firewood, and paddle away to construct a (doomed) dam near the stream that feeds the watershed. I'm sure he thought he'd found the water-rat McDonalds.
I'd like that to go, please. With some cookies.
Today Bear went down to check and found the trusty sump-pump in the basement had failed, leaving five inches of water in the basement.
He was blase. (I'll get the big pump out. It'll be fine.)
I....don't do well in these situations.
The Frank Lloyd Wright house, Fallingwater?* Would freak me right the heck out. A house? Built over water? Are you insane?
Now, I love boats. One of my favorite retirement fantasies used to be living on a houseboat somewhere warm. (Although that might be due to too many Robert Parker novels.)
But a house should not have water under it. Nosiree.
Now, this is definitely not as bad as it could get. It's nowhere near the hell we went through a few years back when the entire neighborhood flooded. And B has pumped out the water and now the (properly working) sump pump is doing a fine job of keeping the basement dry.
But I'm still uneasy.
I don't want to be queen of the nile.
Not even the river I'm on.
*Hey, SL? Ever been there? Well, you should. It looks insanely cool. Just not...you know, to sleep in.