| Living Large In A Small House, LLC

There’s a reason we have never regretted our decision to live on the river. On any given day, the view is stunning, the wildlife is endlessly entertaining, and the pace of life out here feels like a gift. We always say that 99% of the time, living on the water is absolutely idyllic. But every once in a while, the river reminds you who was here first.

This past April, for the first time in nearly a decade, our river overflowed its banks. And this was one of those floods that got our full attention.

A boat dock with a covered shelter extends over a calm lake, invoking a sense of recollection, surrounded by green trees and houses along the far shoreline under a blue sky with some clouds.

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When 20 Inches of Water Becomes Your Front Yard

At its peak, we had 20 inches of water on our road. The only way in or out of our property was on foot in hip waders or by rowboat. I want to be clear: our home stayed dry, and we are grateful for that. This isn’t our first flood, nor was it our worst, so we are prepared, and we know what to do to protect our property. However, everything outside the four walls of our home was a different story.

Floodwaters surround bushes and cover the ground near a house, with sandbags stacked by the building. Leafy and bare trees stand in the background under a cloudy sky, as And The River Rises ominously nearby. — The road to our house is under this water

Pink tulips grow among green plants at the edge of a flooded area, hinting at garden recovery after flooding. Water partially submerges stems, while trees, grass, and houses are visible in the background beneath a clear blue sky. — The road to our house is under this water

The chicken coop flooded. The greenhouse took on nearly a foot of water. And my gardens, especially the perennial beds that I’ve spent 33 years building, sat submerged long enough to do some real damage.

This is not a post asking for sympathy. This is river life, and we chose it. But I did want to share what the recovery has looked like. If you’ve ever dealt with flood damage in your garden, you know it’s not as simple as waiting for things to dry out and picking up where you left off.

Several young chickens of different colors stand on wood shavings inside a pen with red plastic panels, as if awaiting a new day. Food and water containers line the edges, while curiosity stirs—And The River Rises just beyond their world.

The Chickens Come First (They Always Do)

We’ve been urban backyard farmers for about 15 years, so our chickens are just part of our lives. Our last two ladies of our old flock passed away last summer. The decision was to get new baby chicks in late March, early April, and they would be ready to go outside mid-May. We picked up our days-old chickens on the first Saturday in April. In hindsight, the timing was not ideal.

With the coop underwater, those chicks stayed inside our house far longer than any of us, chicks included, would have preferred. It wasn’t until the end of May that the coop was cleaned up, dried out, repaired, and ready for its new residents.

If you are curious and want more details about raising backyard chickens, you can read my post “Do You Want to Raise Chickens in Your Backyard?” We’ve had chickens for about 15 years, and it never gets old. The taste of an egg from your backyard is like nothing you’ve ever tasted in a store-bought egg. To me it tastes like butter!

A white chicken coop surrounded by floodwater stands beside a glass building. A ladder leans on the coop, and trees are visible in the background as And The River Rises, leaving only a small patch of green grass dry in the foreground. — The Chicken Coop

A flooded backyard with water covering the patio, as And The River Rises. A small white greenhouse stands among tall trees. Outdoor furniture, sandbags, and blue-and-white checked tablecloths are seen in the foreground. — The Chicken Coop

What Flood Water Does to a Garden

Here’s what most people don’t realize about flooding from a river: it’s not clean water. Along with the obvious debris, you’re dealing with sediment, silt, and, in our case, a generous dose of natural fish emulsion deposited across everything. The smell is something. The mess is significant.

But here’s the silver lining that only a gardener who’s been through this would notice: that same river water leaves behind incredibly fertile soil. Our lawn after a flood is lush and green in a way that would cost a fortune to achieve with conventional fertilizer. The soil in my beds gets a natural nutrient boost that will benefit my plants for months to come. It doesn’t make the cleanup easier, but it does make the recovery a little sweeter.

A flooded yard with standing water, white picket fences, and a raised garden bed with straw and plants—And The River Rises, the fence’s reflection shimmers in the water. — The vegetable gardens raised beds

Calling in Reinforcements

The scale of the cleanup was beyond what I wanted to tackle alone. I called in our landscapers, Sprout Lawn Care & Landscaping, LLC—if you’re local and looking for excellent service, and it was absolutely the right thing to do. They worked through the perennial beds, clearing out the debris the water had deposited, also taking out dead plant material. Then they edged the beds and laid down a thick layer of leaf mulch. Walking out to see the beds clean and defined again after weeks of chaos was one of those small moments that felt enormous.

It’s okay to ask for help. That’s something you learn after 33 years on a property like this. Furthermore, the older we get, the harder it gets to do all the work ourselves.

A landscaped garden bed, part of a garden recovery after flooding, features fresh mulch, green plants, and small shrubs beside a blue house under large trees. A white truck is parked in the driveway, and another is near a road lined with white bags. — You see the sandbags out on the curb ready for hazard waste pickup

The Losses, The Survivors, and a Few Surprises

My gardens are a part of who I am. I love to get my hands in the soil. It’s my therapy. So when we flood and I lose some of my gardens, it’s heartbreaking.

The plants that simply will not tolerate wet roots took the hardest hit. I lost all of my lavender, sage, salvia, coneflowers, bee balm, hellebores, and foxglove. Several rose bushes didn’t make it. I have two hydrangeas that I’m still watching closely, but I’m not optimistic. And my climbing autumn clematis, which had become a beautiful focal point on the arbor in my garden, is gone. That one stings. It has taken years to get this clematis established and climbing the way mine was.

And then there were the peonies and tulips. But I’ll get to those in a moment.

On the survivor side: my hostas, ferns, and daylilies came through with just a little dirt on their leaves. They are reliable and tough, and this spring proved that again. My blue flag irises also survived, which might surprise you if you’ve read that irises don’t tolerate wet conditions. That’s true of bearded irises, which rot quickly in saturated soil. The variety of my irises actually prefers moisture.

Now for the surprise of the season. Three years ago I planted a lilac bush, and this spring it had finally, finally started to flower. The timing could not have been worse. Everything I had read told me lilacs don’t like wet roots, and I watched that water rise up to and then around my lilac bush. I grabbed some flowers and thought this would be the first and only blooms I would get. As luck would have it, the bush looks just fine. The little tree is tougher than I gave it credit for.

A close-up of a bouquet of purple lilac flowers with green leaves in a white ceramic vase with blue accents, set against a white paneled background and a framed picture titled "And The River Rises" on the wall.

The Peonies and the Tulips: A Moment of Honest Grief

I have to talk about the peonies and the tulips.

If you’ve followed this blog for any length of time, you know these two flowers are my favorite spring blooms.

I had managed to keep the deer away from almost all of my tulip blooms, and the garden looked so festive with bunches of pink tulips sprinkled through my gardens. I was so pleased. When the water rose, I rescued all the pink tulips I could and brought them into the house to enjoy. It will be interesting to see if the bulbs flower again next year. My guess is no!

Flooded garden with water covering the ground. Pink tulips and a solar garden light stand in the water, surrounded by plants and submerged wooden planks, as if And The River Rises. A tree and playground equipment appear in the background.

A bouquet of vibrant pink tulips with yellow centers rests on the edge of a white kitchen sink, gold faucets gleaming nearby—an inviting scene where beauty blooms, as if And The River Rises just outside the window.

Now the story of my peonies. I have about 10 plants peppering my gardens, and every year I look forward to these blooms the way most people look forward to a vacation. This April, my peonies were just beginning to come alive when the flood hit.

The plants themselves survived. They’re green and look really healthy. But with the exception of one plant that already had buds on the verge of opening when the water came, none of them flowered this year. That one peony bloomed, and it was beautiful; I cut off a few blooms and appreciated them more than I ever have.

A gold wall vase holds pink peonies and assorted greenery against a white beadboard wall, with a white pitcher hanging from a hook below. The scene evokes tranquility—like the gentle calm before And The River Rises in the framed picture nearby.

The rest won’t bloom again until next spring.

I know it’s a small loss in the grand scheme of things. But a year is a long time to wait for one of your favorite flowers.

a light pink climbing rose in my front garden — Climbing Rose

What’s Going Back In

Even knowing what the flood took, I won’t be reimagining these beds from scratch. The plants I lost are the backbone of a cottage garden, and that’s exactly what I’ve been cultivating here for all these years. Rose bushes, lavender, salvia, coneflowers, and bee balm will all be replaced this season. They may not love wet roots, but they belong here, and I’m not ready to give them up.

A lush garden with green ferns and plants thrives under a large tree beside the lake. Wooden docks extend into the water, and a bird feeder hangs from a branch. Tranquility fills the air as And The River Rises, embracing this scene of natural beauty. — Looks so much better after the landscapers worked their magic

I’m also starting foxglove from seed. If you garden in Zone 5b, you already know that foxglove is a biennial, meaning it completes its life cycle over two years rather than one. The trick to having them bloom every year is succession planting, starting new seeds each season so you always have both first-year green plants and second-year flowering plants in the ground at the same time. In about a month I should have seedlings ready to go in the ground. It’s a little extra work, but there is nothing quite like a foxglove spike rising up in a cottage garden border, so it’s absolutely worth it.

A bright, airy greenhouse with a brick floor, glass roof, and white walls. A rustic table holds terra cotta pots and gardening tools; shelves at the back display baskets, books like And The River Rises, and decor. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling.

The Greenhouse: A Work in Progress

The greenhouse cleanup has been its own project entirely. Nearly a foot of water inside means you’re not just wiping things down. We’ve been power washing, scrubbing, and slowly getting it back to a place where it can actually function again.

What I haven’t told you yet is that this greenhouse is not just a working space. It’s one of my favorite spots on the entire property. The vintage window-inspired space is filled with vintage gardening tools, old architectural elements, and baskets collected over the years and nestled among my clay pots. In the summer, when we have friends over, the sink gets filled with ice and wine bottles. Getting it back to its former self feels personal in a way that goes beyond just cleaning up after a flood.

I’ll be sharing the full greenhouse story soon, once it’s back to looking the way it should. Consider this your official teaser.

A large tree stands in a flooded yard near a lake, garden plants and a white bucket partially submerged—evidence of the recent deluge. Houses and trees are visible across the water as And The River Rises, reshaping the familiar landscape.

Where Things Stand Now

In a normal year, I’m planting by mid-May. This year, I’m just now getting my gardens into shape at the start of June. Two weeks behind, which doesn’t sound like much until you’re a Zone 5b gardener who knows exactly how short our season already is.

But here’s where I’ve landed: the beds are clean and mulched. The soil is in beautiful condition due to all the natural fertilizer. The greenhouse is nearly ready. The chickens are finally outside where they belong. And I’m planting.

Late, yes. But slowly but steadily I’ll get it done.

The river gives, and the river takes. Thirty-three years in, we know that. Ninety-nine percent of the time, living here is everything we ever wanted. This spring was firmly in that other one percent. We sandbagged, we cleaned up, we called for help when we needed it, and we kept going.

That’s river life.

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Final Thoughts

Thirty-three years on this river have taught me that a home and the gardens around it are never really finished. They’re always in some stage of growing, changing, or recovering. This spring was a setback; there’s no denying that. But as I look at my freshly mulched beds, my resilient hostas and daylilies, my one triumphant peony, and my lilac that refused to give up, I’m reminded that gardens are more forgiving than we give them credit for. The losses hurt, and I won’t pretend otherwise. But there is something quietly satisfying about putting your hands back in the soil and starting again, even when you’re starting later than you planned.

Happy Gardening!

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