Sunday was one (a sun day, that is), and you couldn’t very well throw a stone without hitting a jogger, cyclist, dog-walker, skateboarder, kayaker, or aeroplane:

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It was when we first moved in here that I noticed the old, wooden bridge spanning that grassy ditch out back. For all its rough charm, it seemed somewhat out of place, a relic of bygone, wetter, days.

This assessment couldn’t have been further from the mark.

Now, this photograph was taken a couple of days ago, and the water level looks to have increased by a few inches since. Anyhow, it’s not uncommon to hear that certain f-word (Flooding, that is) bandied about at this time of year, as though the old Champlain Sea is set to make a comeback. But as you can see, the water is running high, though by no means clear; no, it’s taken on a green tinge, swollen with runoff from nearby fields and roadsides.

The creek slowly makes its way to the Ottawa River, though by a route that is anything but direct. As creeks often do, this one meanders to, fro, and back again,  crossing our road in at least three different places over the stretch of a couple kilometres.