The days of yellow

It is late summer, and the mesic prairie is awash with yellows. Look around and you will see coneflower, wild sunflower, goldenrod, tansy, the dandelion and more all in bloom. The soft sun at twilight only adds to the glow. Soon, other colors will be reflected in the landscape, but for now the days belong to yellow.

The dog days

A distinct sound of late summer fills the air, as dog-day cicadas call from the tops of hardwood trees. On the ground, a familiar plant blooms with whorls of flowers that resemble a fireworks display. This plant, common milkweed, was obviously not named by the monarch butterfly. The monarch has adapted over time to use the milkweed for survival. Eggs are placed on the underside of its leaves and the caterpillars are born on their food source. The milkweed contains a toxic substance that monarchs have evolved to tolerate. The caterpillar and butterfly stages carry the substance in their own tissue, making them distasteful to predators. Thus, a plant that grows in "waste areas" like roadsides and sandpits and floodplains, a plant labeled a weed by humans, is vitally important to an insect we find beautiful.

The summer low

July and August typically deny our little river of precipitation. It has a relatively small watershed, so the water level is victim the short-term whims of seasonal snowmelt and rainfall (or lack thereof). Currently, the river bed is nearly parched. It's now hard to imagine this little trickle as the seed for a flood. Few fish and even fewer beavers are migrating upstream from the Red River of the North anymore. The water is just too shallow. The conditions are perfect, however, for wading. On a hot day, the sand and silt sparkle under a thin watery lens and provide a cool refuge for bare feet. Chasing minnows, following animal tracks, and collecting smooth stones are all part of summer on the river.

The public good

Oakport Township is cleaning up the sandbags and temporary dirt levees and forming a mountain of debris (pictured).  Perhaps they will use this debris in the construction of permanent flood protection.

FEMA officials are visiting with rural residents of the four Minnesota counties designated as disaster areas.  If your home was damaged by the flood, or if you missed work due to the flood, you may be eligible for federal financial assistance.  A professional and friendly FEMA employee from Illinois stopped by our house two days ago.  Help is available to those who need it.  It goes to show that government agencies can do good work if they are run by people who believe in public service.

The continuum

As the floodwaters recede here in the valley, the waters rise out west. West of the Red River Valley is the prairie pothole region. In places like Devils Lake, the standing water level has been rising for over a decade. Birds benefit from it, but cabin owners do not. Farther west, flash floods occur in the steep ravines of the badlands. At least one man fell victim to the Mouse River near Minot.

Back home, things are quiet. We pick up the trash transported downstream from who knows where. There are liquor bottles, beer cans, and blue plastic tarps. Even the strongest flood can't scrub all of this junk away; but we have our share of beauty too. A pair of tundra swans stop by on the way to their namesake breeding grounds. Cormorants dive for minnows in the cold river. The spring air is filled with goose music. Life goes on as it always has, since before humans were here to watch it.

The second crest

There will be a second crest on the Red River. There is still a significant snowpack left to melt, and April rains are inevitable. While we wait for the next wave, the receding waters allow us to see what the first wave swallowed. This news comes from the Grand Forks Herald:

Authorities believe a rural Climax, Minn., man found dead in the Red River was swept away in floodwaters as he tried to cross a washed-out stretch of road in a full-size pickup.

Polk County deputies located the body of a drowned man on Sunday evening about 60 yards downstream from where his four-door 2003 Chevrolet Silverado sat up to its windows in about four feet of water, investigator Nathan Rasch said.

The aftermath

A river channel is forever adjusting its path through the landscape, even in the face of man's best attempts to contain it. Our river is no longer wild; it is part of an integrated and efficient farm drainage system. But even this drainage ditch is not static. After every high water event, the current widens the outside bends and scours out deeper pools. Weak banks slough down and trees tumble with them. This most recent flood picked up debris from miles upstream and piled it in the floodplain forest. Corn stalks and cobs, wheat straw, rotten sugar beets, and birch bark collected in mounds wrapped around tree trunks. New ridges of sand and silt lie on the banks, covered in mottled patterns. The new look is only temporary, as the river continues to flow, always changing.