picture by Audrey Pavia
All the heavy rains we ’ve been having have made a mess of our stalls .
southerly California has a reputation for being cheery and quick most all yr round . And for the most part , it ’s true . So when we have occasional bouts of bad weather and kick about it , we are no doubt perceived by the rest of the country as fuck up complainer .
But the amount of rain that has come down on my urban farm residential area the last two weeks really is derisory . It ’s been rain on and off — mostly on — since , well , before Christmas .
The Santa Ana River runs through the northern part of townspeople , bring watershed down from the mountains that fence our vale . Normally when it rains , the river swell for a solar day or so and then sink as it empties into the sea about 30 miles by . But this twelvemonth , the nearly constant deluge of rain proved to be too much . During a large torrent , the river breeched the banks and flooded a riding unchanging turn up fashion too secretive to this fighting overflow plain .
TV bunch were all over the position as horse , up to their pectus in H2O , were evacuate from the unchanging . organ pipe corral were burst and it was consummate topsy-turvydom . One of the cavalry , an expensive roping stallion , opt to bolt in the polar guidance from the relaxation of the herd and was swept away in the rushing water . Despite flyovers by whirlybird and minuscule planes , he still has n’t been found a week later on .
Meanwhile , thehorsesat my urban farm must palpate like they are endure to be swim shortly . The commonly ivory - dry decomposed granite that render the terms in their paddocks has turned to ankle deep clay . Picking manure out of such a mess is no easy labor . It takes doubly as long to clean the stalls and the strength of Hercules to move the trash bins filled with wet manure to get them out to the check for pick - up .
During brief periods when the rain stop , I rush to get my horses out of their stalling and onto the biotic community trails so they can stretch their peg . It ’s hard to find a ironical arena to turn over them out , soRio , my 3 - yr - old , is jolly full of it as I attempt to pony him along the trail . The erosion from the water on the hilly sections has produce deep ravines that we require to manoeuver , and Rio uses these moments as an self-justification to put up , one dollar bill and generally act like a harum-scarum . Thank goodness forMilagro , who has become a steadfast pony horse and helps me not fall off while share with my crazy baby .
Thechickensaren’t very glad with all this rainwater , either . They joyously run out of their coop in the cockcrow when I let them out and then wilt with disappointment when they feel the drizzle hit their backs . If it really bulge out to come down , they all cower underneath a bench I have near my tack shed , hold back for the rain to stop so they can continue their never - ending lookup for bug and seeds . I can only reckon their misery the dark it rained so hard , the wooden coop ceiling became saturate and begin to leak . Mr. Mabel , always the chivalrous one , took the tough touch on the roosting pole and came out in the morn soaking wet .
The silver lining to all this is that when the clouds finally part and the sky turn patrician again , those of us wading through the mud will be treated to a splendiferous sight : The mountains that surround our valley will be covered with snow . It ’s something we warm - atmospheric condition types never get well-worn of seeing .
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