On An Ordinary Weekday

At the bend in the creek, the naked dirt bank reached high and steep, topped by a tall fence. Unprotected and vulnerable, the bank’s soft earth was no match for spring’s mad water. With every high water event of the past few years, we’d nervously watch dirt fall by dribbles and chunks into the current below. One more flood, we worried, would take out the bank, the fence, all of it. 

Though the problem was glaring, the solution proved much harder to find. Literally. Where could we source stone enough to shore up an entire creek bank without going bankrupt? Aside from hearing of a free stone pile 50 miles away, which we took from last spring to shore up the most vulnerable place further up the creek, we’d had no success. So we watched our crumbling creek bank, nervous, knuckles between teeth. 

Earlier this week over my morning tea, I glanced at the weather report. What with inches of rain forecast over the coming few days, a flood was likely, they said. And that was all it took to turn an ordinary weekday into an extraordinary event. 

I jumped in my car and headed down the gravel road. The previous day, on my way for a hike, I’d seen a man and a machine moving dirt and, yes, rock - tons of rock - on property not two miles from our house. I was hopeful. Around the bend, I slowed, and sure enough, there he was again on his machine. We introduced ourselves, shook hands. Creases were weathered into his face, a battered straw hat was on his head, and an unlit cigarette dangled between his lips. Charlie, was his name. 

Charlie, I’m looking for stone. As much as I can get, as soon as I can get it, I said. Need to shore up a creek bank before it floods. 

He didn’t hesitate. Said I could have all the stone I wanted. Said if I could get a dump trailer, he’d even load it up with his machine. I’ll find one, I replied, come hell or high water (grin). It took some searching, checking, calling, asking, but sure enough, a friend with a truck and dump trailer said he could haul a load that afternoon. 

By two o’clock, there he was, rolling down our driveway with his dump trailer full of rock. And, to my complete surprise, behind him came Charlie with his truck and dump trailer full of rock. In turn, they dumped their loads right there on the creek bank. They both smiled and waved away my offers of anything but a full-hearted thanks as they pulled away leaving literal tons of stone behind. I was in disbelief at the generosity of it all. And also in disbelief over the work we had ahead. Good thing I happened to have two sons visiting home. 

We started carrying rock. 

As it often goes, we soon found a rhythm to the work. I’d carry or roll (mostly roll) the rocks over to and down the creek bank for the boys to lift, carry, and set into the bank on the opposite side. In one of those time-warp, logic-defying miracles that are difficult to comprehend and even harder to explain, the three of us somehow moved and placed all that stone in two and a half hours. And, somehow, without any measuring or calculating having been done, there was the perfect amount. 

The next morning, I sat at the water’s edge with my cup of tea, moved by the beauty before me and the experience of the previous day. The generosity of strangers and friends, the willing strength of our boys, and the gift of the earth, together bringing an unexpected miracle on an ordinary weekday. For us.

The morning sun dappled through the baby leaves of the golden willow tree and danced across the tumbled stones. Birds landed on them, glanced around, then leaned down and sipped from the creek. Over time, grasses will seed and vines will reach and the stones will settle in as though they’d always been there.