But other measures are more kind. With the fallout from hurricanes hitting hard up north of here -- not in Florida! -- I looked into some of the past flooding in both Chattanooga and Binghamton, other places I have lived. And the flooding was bad, really bad. In both towns, the water levels took out the downtowns several times. And now floodwalls stand around each city. Recent floodwaters came up to and spilled over each wall, but they did prevent widespread disaster. But because people continue to build along side flood walls and in flood plains, I suppose the timeline of history is blurred, and the age of the lessons returns, making the older floods closer to memory. So maybe I'm not so old after all.
On a more immediate scale of time, the days have grown shorter. I used to take Grover to the beach at 7:45 for his evening walk, and we'd return home sandy, wet, bitten and hungry about 8:45. Now it's dark at 7:45. Still hot, though. So much for the later evening bike rides as well. No more 8pm departures to avoid the dining crowds on the road. The tradeoff seems to be we have different clouds this season. More of the familiar orange-brown slurry of textures, similar to what we'd see over the Sutter Buttes back in California.
The sea turtles have all hatched by now, a fraction of them making it beyond the first two weeks, and only a fraction of those destined to make it to adolescence. The armadillos are back scurrying, like the squirrels, for the last of summer morsels to gather. And a new crop of frogs -- or a very small species -- is now underfoot and on the door. Cicadas scream in unison, drowning out even the light car traffic. And I finally baked some cookies for Lana, some banana muffins for me and Amy, and homemade beer for myself. (photos.)
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