I am sitting here on a sullen soggy Sunday afternoon, sequestered in our cabin, watching waterlogged sea ducks moving to refuges on high ground as the rains continue. What has it been so far? Thirty-nine days and nights?

I would build an ark but, with country’s supply chain in chaos, every outfit I call claims they are fresh out of cubits or don’t have a clue about where to find any.

Fact: Although somewhat rare nowadays, there are still some customer service centers with a sense of humor.

When is this stuff going to stop? If the latest deluges had been snow, DOT would have been drilling access tunnels down Baycrest Hill to the city instead of sending rescue wreckers out to haul submerged road repair rigs out of potholes the size of Beluga Lake.

If this wet-n-warm, freeze, then start again, continues much longer, Kachemak Drive will need a complete redo and some serious currency to ensure sure that we won’t end up with a thoroughfare that, subsequently to another ginormous sky flush, doesn’t swiftly deteriorate into something reminiscent of an exposed earthquake fault line.

We have great road crews but the weather continues to make it hard for them to stay ahead of the curve. Especially, when so many access roads tend to morph into lanes featuring break points mirroring the aftereffects of a tank battle rather than the results being hit by the remnants of a tropical monsoon.

As for our cabin, we have pretty good drainage but the storm’s accompanying winds have been exceedingly generous when it comes to replacing the leaves required to reload our gutters and, trust me, when they back up, it looks like mini-Yosemite Falls off the northern corners of roof.

Not cool, and, unfortunately these slowly fossilizing bones of mine preclude a rapid response to remedy the problem. In fact, they preclude even considering using a ladder other than to loan it to someone.

Luckily, both my wife’s stern counsel and a great handyman have undoubtedly saved me several embarrassing trips to the emergency room. I have been known to attempt unadvised feats that would have been easy in my linebacker years but not so much nowadays when my walking produces more noise than microwaving a bag of popcorn. So, as of now, all I can do is call, get in line and hope he isn’t backed up like the Port of L.A.

To be truthful, we seem to have avoided any big setbacks or significant damages so far, but the winter is still a long way away from exposing the evil side of its id so we will remain on high alert until it bares its fangs.

Until then, I need to focus on a series of old potholes that went on an abrupt growth surge across on part of our road during heaven’s latest flood crest.

They are not yet large enough to be eligible for trout stocking by ADF&G but will soon be useable for large set of duck decoys. So, I’ll try to get some gravel brought in before freeze up. If that fails, the local kids will have a place to practice hockey over the winter without fear of getting anything wet but their ankles if they break through the ice.

Now if Zeus, who claims to be the head honcho of the heavens, will just back off with the wicked attitude, maybe we can catch up before the resident weasel floats by on his new houseboat once known as our woodpile.

Nick can be reached at ncvarney@gmail.com.