Spring Flooding

The winter of 1949 had been harsh, starkly white, and unsafe for a little girl to go out. I stared out the dining room window at my big naked friends, the Maple trees, wondering if they were asleep like Mommy said.

Sometimes I looked across the way and saw our neighbor, Mrs. Samalski, the Police Chief’s wife, through her window tending to her houseplants. I wondered why her plants weren’t asleep. Sometimes she saw me, smiled and waved at me.

Spring rushed in with unexpected warmth that nearly drowned us all. The Niagara river climbed over it’s banks.

Muddy water eddied in front of our doorstep, crept over the sill, and filled the basement overnight. I gazed out the window at the kaleidoscope patterns of the water as it rose around the house.


I was entranced by the sights and sounds outside as we waited for the boat rescuers. It wasn’t the roar of the water that piqued my curiosity; it was the human-like moaning of the trees as they fought to keep their roots in the thick clay soil, and the muck-sucking sounds when the flood tried to tear them out by the roots. Those tall proud Guardians won the battle as the waters swiftly receded.

After the water withdrew, I begged to go outside, so I could investigate the new sprouting green buds, and splash in water puddles (wearing my high galoshes, of course).

After all, my big brother had been out there every day since the flooding began, filling sand bags and shoveling mud with Daddy. It was a disappointment for me, once I got outside. All the beautiful mud patterns were gone and I struggled as the sludge grabbed my galoshes. Needless to say, I landed face down in the stinky stuff.

Discouraged, I dragged myself back inside and stayed safely behind my window as buds opened into lovely leaves. The sun dried out the earth, neighbors gathered together to clean up the mess as the days went by. Then, with my nose pressed hard against the window, I closely examined the newly blooming Lilacs at the base of our window, and welcomed their return.

Soil Begging to be Touched!

The rain is gone, fruit trees are budding and  throwing out their first blooms. Apricot, peach, plums. Yum. Can hardly wait.

My hands itch to immerse themselves in the soil, to tidy up the mess the garden has become over the winter. Though no snow storms ravaged the land, rain is our winter fare.

Fortunately this year was a good rain year. Water high in the reservoir means no rationing. If those who garden heavily want to water their yards without counting out every drop, they will be joyful for the abundance.

I've pulled myself out of that group of gardeners, tending roses and other plants that don't thrive without constant individualized care. The soil here is one of the worst. Being part of the flood plain you'd think it would be rich. But this is the Pajaro River, one of the most endangered rivers in America.

Previous flooding over generations, before my house ever existed has created a hard pack over my yard. It's a dichotomy to me that the city is surrounding by some of the richest soil and biggest agriculture in the world. When you go to the store to buy strawberries, inevitably they will have come to you from Watsonville, or Salinas Valley.

Early land owning farmers of the region had enough sense to stay away from the non-arable land where I live and delegated it to the Chinese hired labor to scratch out their existence.

So I sit here scratching my head how to live with the land peacefully. It's still a process for me. I have left off from cultivating, improving my soil with bone and blood meal, growing my own worms, composting and digging into the compacted clay, hard tack soil in attempts to urge it along into something abundant. It's been a losing battle fighting off the local predators, weeds, bugs and mammalian alike. It's not true companion planting will do it. It's not true lady bugs, miniature wasps and lacewings can completely obliterate the problem unless you have a lot of money to invest. They don't know enough to stay within the confines of your own garden, but like to travel on. I've let things go fallow.

I have a small front yard. and instead of being the shame of the neighborhood it was at one time, the jewel. Do we all know, however, one of those houses where everyone driving by either averts their eyes, or points? My method of scattering seed instead of planting from the nursery has put me in that category for some.  I've made enough adjustments to keep from being reported to the neighborhood association. (Yes, we have garden police here.)

It was questionable whether or not my yard completely full of Flanders red poppies was unsightly or beautiful. Eventually, the decision came down to fire hazard. That was a drought year and the three foot poppy plants had dried out quite quickly. I could see their point as they crackled where ever I walked. I pulled them all up and through them in one of the many compost bins in my back yard.

But, poppies have plans of their own.

Many seeded early leaving behind another crop the following year.

Rather than deal with another hassle, I judiciously pulled them up as soon as they bloomed.


We shall see if any of them dare to raise their lovely red heads this year!

Quiet Steady Rain

Branches dance to orchestration
chimes caressed by the wind
water dripping between spaces
so many pebbles pounding the roof
gutters rush to find a way to meet with wet soil

Stretching antenna, snails head for high ground
water dive bombing around them

Trailing ants gone
safely stowed in the attic,
or deeply burrowed beneath soil.
Can they manage the onslaught
of rivulets flooding
their collapsed corridors?

Opened window listening
Sonata plays full volume.

Water splayed upon window sill
Cats shake their paws
watch with piercing eyes
to see where each drop
ends it's journey

No resounding thunder, no lightning strikes
just the windows mumbling to the whispering wind
the conversation during intermission lulls me to sleep.

Elizabeth Munroz

January 2010

California Cyclone Weather

January 4, 2008

We are being inundated. According to the weather channel, we are having hurricane force winds they are saying though I don't think that 75 mph counts, really. Trees are down everywhere. Half of Santa Cruz county is without power. (the trees fall on the power lines, especially up in the mountains). Two main highways are closed due to trees and lines down. The electric company has drawn their employees off the job as it is too dangerous to do repairs right now.

My neighborhood (and others nearby) are under flood warning. I live a few blocks from the Pajaro River. Even though there is a levee, it has been crossed over and flooded before. I was living here in early 80's when Watsonville was flooded.

So, I sit here. No car, sick, senile cat, and waiting for evacuation order. I hope not. Damn, I hope not. What a pain in the ass. Right now, lots of water in the yard as it can't soak in fast enough. That I can live with. Water seeping into the garage? Can't do anything about that right now, In two hours my housekeeper will be here and maybe we can get some stuff out of the way and block the garage front door where it is seeping through.

The most annoying thing is fever and not feeling well enough to handle this if I have to go somewhere. Kats is up in the bay area where they have closed one of the major bridges into SF. So, it is unlikely he can get here to be with me. Even the side roads are not passable.






North American Superstorm Complex