Airborne dribbles shoot into the thick humid air from the swan’s lips. Wings rise from the sides of the bird, stopped at their highest point, bleached white against the blue sky. The marble pedestal gleams under the drippy water falling from a bowl beneath the bird.

Now even these beads of water seem too much. The farm share I participate in has most fields under water. They used the word “catastrophic” in their email to us. Lost is this year’s fall and winter crop, and this summer’s crop is mostly unsalvageable. They send updated emails, each more recent one describes more chaos and loss.

I am so sad. I know farmers. I know, they know, there won’t be anything easy about their day to day. I think about them at night and when I wake up in the morning. I think about my farm fresh food once in a while, but I feel for the folks at the farm, for all their hard work, underwater.

Farmers like flood plains where the soil is fertile and productive. Fields flood, but at other times of the year, without catastrophe. You can observe this overflow of the rivers — the Connecticut River where water is generated in Vermont, and the Mill River — as some sort of larger climate shift, or not.

Pictures of flooded areas make my heart quicken; my breathing more rapid. Roadside markers now hold more interest as you realize the top of the line on the board is taller than your car. Some markers have five markings, one for each flood event, all these marks crowd the stick. In the big picture, we are a thin ring in the tree stump of life as we know it.

I will help the farmers as I can and help with what I see as the bigger picture. In the meantime I’ll have the privilege of supporting other local farmers in living their day to day in one of the most difficult jobs around.

Katharine Price Nelson

Westhampton

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