This is a new olfactory experience for me. The scent of a fresh flood waters is akin to the smell of wet earth, raw turnips, and the nastiest gray-water ever to come from an Airstream holding tank.
We stood at the French doors and watched everything from tree trunks to basketballs rush by. In a matter of minutes the creek went from this . . . to this.


We have a break in the rain, so family and friends go out and survey the damage.
A few displaced critters.Part Two - God was not willing.The Waddell’s go out Saturday evening. I had planned to go with them. But alas, a threatening storm cell on the radar, something beyond earthly control, restricts me to stay and keep Lulu company.
The old saying, “God willing and the creek don’t rise” has been tagged on to plans and promises for years in these parts. Paul Waddell believes I’m probably the first person in the history of the world who can truly say she couldn’t go because “God wasn’t willing and the creek rose.”
Part Three - The other creek rose.
Today, Sunday afternoon with the Waddell’s in downtown Front Royal. Happy Creek was not so happy. When everything from refrigerators to entire tree root systems get backed up under low bridges, you can expect water to go everywhere it shouldn’t. Even into Paul (AKA Rideair) and Mary Kim’s storage garage for Blue Ridge Hot Air Balloons. Minimal water damage and a thick coat of mud. They were fortunate compared to many.
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