Ah, ranch life. We welcome the rain, but when the creek floods, it tends to take the fence with it. After two weeks of being tied up with other things, we finally carved out time to jump in and make the repairs. This past weekend, my wife and I recruited our two nieces, Frances and Eleanor, for what we thought would be a quick fix along Little Sunday Creek.
Spoiler alert: it was anything but quick. There was mud, plenty of splashing, and even a small gulp of creek water. We tackled both the upstream and downstream sections of this sly little stream that winds its way through the ranch, transforming what could’ve been a routine chore into a messy, memory-making family adventure.
Picture a warm June morning. Before we even loaded the mule, I gathered Frances and Eleanor for a quick ranch-style safety meeting. We ran through the basics—PPE, snakes, and all the usual hazards. Gloves, safety glasses, and long-sleeve shirts were non-negotiable. No complaints—they were ready to go.
We packed the mule with barbed wire, fence posts, and enough tools to build a small outpost—though, of course, we somehow still managed to forget a few essentials. My wife, ever prepared, loaded us up with water like we were trekking across the desert and reminded everyone (repeatedly) to keep drinking and reapply sunscreen—as if we didn’t already know.
We started at the upstream section, where the creek begins its lazy descent from higher ground, gathering every leaf, stick, and random piece of debris like a hoarder on a spree. That’s where the real work kicked in. The recent flash flood had wiped out the fence. I got to work tying barbed wire while the girls placed (or rather, flung) stones along the line—until Frances launched a splash of creek mud right into my face. Thankfully, I had my PPE—sunglasses—or I’d have ended up with more than just mud in my mouth. “Good thing you had your PPE!” she laughed. Meanwhile, my wife worked on clearing brush tangled in the wire, but it was too thick to manage without loppers. So, back the girls went to retrieve the tool we forgot.
Still determined, we made our way downstream, where the creek moves faster and chews away everything in its path like a mischievous little river goblin. Here, the fence posts were flattened against the bank like a welcome mat for wandering cattle. Several large logs had jammed themselves under the bridge thanks to the high water, adding more complications to the task. And naturally, we discovered we were short on T-posts. So off went my wife, Frances, and Eleanor to the barn for reinforcements. An hour later, we finally got the job wrapped up.
By sunset, the fence stood—mostly—and the day’s to-do list was checked off. Little Sunday Creek may win a few battles with its floods (though, truthfully, I think it’s undefeated), but it can’t compete with the joy of time spent outdoors with family.
Frances and Eleanor—two incredible kids, full of energy and never once complaining—even offered to come back for more work.
