Cruel Cruel Irony

The trees are dying in our front yard in Austin.  A few days before we left, a huge branch fell across the driveway. About this time, the leaves turned brown and dropped on the grass.  The leaves usually don't cover the front yard until the end of the year.  We called the arborist. Yes, It's the drought.  We had been watering with the sprinkler system according to Austin's 2-day a week restricted water schedule, but the arborist told us trees need deep, slow watering that mimics natural rainfall.

The arborist said many homes in Central Austin were losing their trees. He was going to be part of a public information campaign to educate homeowners about the special water needs of trees.

We went into New York City this Labor Day weekend to visit David's parents. On the train back to Princeton, my mom called from Austin to tell us of the devastating fires around Austin.  Yesterday, the fires in Bastrop made the cover of the New York Times. Odd to be so far away from Central Texas, yet see news from home on national media.  Like a refugee from a natural disaster, I have been pouring over every bit of news I can find...searching maps, local news sources, Facebook updates. My heart breaks as I read the news about the loss of homes around Austin.

The cruel irony is that it just won't stop raining here in New Jersey. News reports carry stories of continued flooding due to Tropical Storm Lee. We carry our umbrellas everywhere.  Flip flops are just not cutting it. We need to get some of those goofy looking rain boots. I lie awake at night and study the sound of the rain outside. It is all new: not just rain, but the sound of rain in this apartment.

Yesterday, I let Emma run and jump in all the rain puddles she could find. Splash away, sweet Emma.  Splash and splash and splash and splash. Let the rain water soak through your clothes and run inside your shoes. Feel the squishy feeling of your feet inside your rain soaked tennis shoes. With wild abandon, get your jeans wet and if you can, even your shirt.  And let me join you in this watery mess.

If I could only send some of this water back to Austin.