Now that the small towns (if they can be called that) of Oso and Darrington have made national news from the "largest landslide in national history," (I've read this in several articles), my concerns about our residing property have been. . . re-enforced. Basically, it's pretty damn scary now. I have friends who hail from Darrington and have kin there (thankfully, their kin have been spared, barely). So this now national news thing is pretty close to home for us, in more ways than one.
After much, much searching, I was able to find the information I was looking for, about the property we call home. We are in a "landslide zone" based on new policy/regulations which state: "Landslide hazard areas are now defined as slopes of 33% or greater rather than 15% as in the previous code." Guess what our drop off is from just a couple of feet past our "square" deck? Did you guess a slop of 33% or greater? That'd be correct. And it's not just a little slope. Nope. It goes all the way down to the bottom of the "easement," which pretty much would land our house on a main country road.
*sigh*
We've been noticing the land changes and movement since we moved here. Well, I (Cedeham) have, possibly more so than Hubby, as the changes and movements have increased in the past year. Mowing the lawn last year took a toll on my back (and other of my bouncy parts), even with the spring seat of the riding mower.
Guess how much the grass has grown in the past two weeks? Yeah, it's time to mow, like, ASAP.
Ever heard of thing "Triple Threat," things happening in threes? You know, like "3 deaths" or "3 disasters," etc. Well, we had that storage unit fire in November 2012 and now this water leak in the barn (I'm very grateful to have insurance, and for my insurance company who is taking good care of us!). . . uh, that makes two. Count that-- TWO. Where's the third and what in the heck is it going to be? When?
No matter how hard we've tried preparing for various situations, with our training and whatnot, Life still likes to throw curve balls (is it baseball season now?) to throw us off balance, and maybe remind us we are only human.
As a species, we think we're so great and powerful-- "Mankind has walked on the moon; discovered galaxies far, far away; plunged the ocean's depths; split the atom; made the invisible visible (okay, so there's still 95% that's not visible. . . .). We are awesome! Hear us roar!" Then Life and Nature laugh at us with a little bit of a shake and a little bit of dirt (comparatively speaking) and show us how incredible fragile we are.
We are very fragile creatures, mighty in our own mind.
That in and of itself is scary, and should cause some concern (if one believes in souls, afterlife, etc). We are so, so fragile. Our next breath is not guaranteed. We take it for granted.
Breathe deep. Do it again. That's life. There's a whole lotta people all over the world who don't get to breathe any more. There's a couple dozen not far from us who are done breathing. Among them is a "brother," a sailor from the USS Momsen, the ship which Hubby pre-commissioned. My heart goes out to (and tears trickled down my face for) his wife and young one who are still alive and waiting to hear about him and their kids (one was just listed among the confirmed dead).
By-the-by, we military spouses don't expect to be made widows/widowers when our spouse is sitting at home with the children. That is the tragedy for this woman-- he was home with their children. Even I can't imagine her heartache.
Breathe. Breathe deep.
~Cedeham~
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