Stream Incursions

"Stream along State Street"
(looking north)  6/12/2013

Part of the street where I live – the upper half of State Street in North Amherst, about the length of four properties – is directly bordered by a small, largely unnoticed stream. In fact, stream may be overstating it. Creek? Swampy roadside hollow? In other words, you’re not going to find it on a map, and it’s dwarfed by Cushman Brook, which runs about 200 feet to the east and roughly parallel to this part of State Street until it merges with Puffer’s Pond. And even Cushman Brook could hardly be considered a major waterway.

I’m betting the only people who even know there is a waterway on this side of the street are the few adjacent home owners, our local DPW department (I hope), and anyone who has opted to park on the side of the road only to find their cars mired in mud at the end of their outing (it’s a perfect access point to swimming holes at Cushman Brook).  One Halloween night about four years ago, a friend of our son’s stepped off the side of the road to avoid an oncoming car and found himself ankle deep in muddy water. Humiliated as only a teen can be at such a predicament, he opted to walk several miles home rather than show up at our house in wet socks and sneakers. That’s when I first realized that the stream was no longer just a “rainy weather” affair. Still, in very dry weather the creek all but disappears, in spring it is overrun with skunk cabbage, and all year round it is hidden by vegetation, arching tree branches, and tall grass. 

"Stream" along State Street, stretching almost to the railroad
overpass (looking south), 6/12/2013

What’s interesting about all this is that the creek bed has become more pronounced over the years. When we first moved here 17 years ago, the stream surfaced only at the northernmost end of State – and even then I saw no evidence of water beyond the fact that the first house on the road had a charming little bridge built into their driveway.  About 8 years ago, the skunk cabbage started stretching further down the street, about 5 years ago cars started toppling into the roadside mud where before they could have parked with impunity, and over the past few years, the puddles that follow rain form immediately, grow quickly, hang around for a good while, and extend almost all the way down to the railroad overpass. 

I’m not sure at what point we decide to name this emerging water feature, build a bridge over it, and figure out how to keep the adjacent properties from washing away, but eventually that time will come. In the meantime, I will watch the waters ebb and flow and imagine thousands of years from now what kind of canyon will have formed from today’s little stream incursion.