Lord Willing, and the Creek Don’t Rise

For almost five idyllic years, we lived in the Duckabush valley, on the East side of the Olympic Peninsula, about 2 miles inland from the Hood Canal. In all that time, I don’t think our little town ever made the news. But this week, runoff from the heavy rains on the Olympic Peninsula has flooded the valley with rain, pushing the swollen river over its banks and generally making a mess.

Last night the Seattle news teams converged on our little valley to report the massive flooding, mudslides and mayhem that the water produced. I had planned to visit the valley today, so I was glad when my Dad called last night to bring me up-to-date on the flooding. We agreed that I would call them this morning, to see if the road was passable.

It is hard to believe that this creek is entirely seasonal, and come summer, there is no water in it at all.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told my Dad, as we finished our call.

“Lord willing, and the creek don’t rise,” he countered. This is a phrase we often use in our family to remind each other that future events are in the hand of God, and that our plans are subject to change. I figure he staged the entire conversation, just so he could use that phrase in a literal fashion.