Well, did too many dramatic weather swings keep you from enjoying the outdoors this summer? To me it felt like we were riding a meteorological Ferris Wheel – that the predicted alarming future had arrived already. I guess we’ll see.
On the one hand, it was the usual geological story: heavy rain scouring rocks as it spilled down the steep forested ridges of Chenes Roches, the Couch Preserve, and Dunham Woods into the upper Willimantic River, turning gneiss and schist into fine sand – and depositing some of its efforts along the banks downstream. The sandbar (dune? beach?) at Schmid Overlook doubled in size. Wave-rippled mini-dunes spread far beyond it. At Potter’s Meadow westbound sand from Lebanon continued filling in the lower end of the Ten Mile River. Both areas lie within the Willimantic River floodplain. It’s all the same system, from Chenes Roches to Schmid and Potters and eventually New London. A waterway regularly creates sand from its upstream stones, so we won’t be seeing the end of this renewable resource any time soon.
Owen’s Mere 
Eagleville Lake 2021
On the other hand, degradation occurs, most of it where man has squeezed nature into corners. At Owen’s Mere an unnatural load of sediment in King’s Brook now arguably results from Sycamore Drive runoff. King’s being a tributary of Eagleville Brook, the material ends up downhill at Eagleville Lake where another peninsula (this one with trees on it!) grows from the delta of Eagleville Brook. Erosion Exacerbates Eutrophication (get your t-shirt here* folks), which in turn invites invasive flora. Ironically, the new land helps reform the channel, beginning to turn Eagleville Lake back into a river despite the dam. While not all JT’s responsibility, what happens in Storrs too will affect Schmid Overlook. Other than fallen trees and the usual wet spots, Potter’s Meadow shows few effects: the roaring Willimantic River stayed in its bed there, having built up the ‘meadow’ millennia ago. Now it carries whatever Ten Mile River sand has gained the big river on to the south.
Pat Miller Photo 
Turning to zoology: the deluge may have replenished the environment just when local amphibians needed it most. Time will tell. All these Joshua’s Trust properties are protected because the ecological value of riparian features is crucial. Uninviting damp, fungi and mosquito-infested seasonal swamps are essential habitat. Many species of shrubs and trees need occasional wet feet (but not permanent wet feet) to survive. Vernal pools are nurseries for some, easy dining for others. Bats and migrating birds depend on the insect factories in an overflow wetland. Some butterflies are only adapted to fluctuating habitat, go extinct in stasis.
Nature adjusts to inundation when left alone; in fact, it’s a built-in way to shake up the system and give species more opportunity. Consistent small perturbation is business as usual – and lessens the chance of a future with severe ecosystem damage. Water functions just like fire in this way, and it must. We know more than we want to about the potential problems with overcontrolling a fire-prone environment these days. Local biota has co-existed with such storm-driven disorder for millions of years. In fact, we are probably here only because rich soil in deltas gave us a place to learn agriculture. A stream needs room to meander, so it can unload storm-induced deposits in its floodplain instead of the channel. Silt-free riffle habitat, a riverbed of oxygenated gravel, is crucial for fish eggs and many aquatic insects to survive.
Yes, I see faster changes in our environment, and it can feel like Joshua’s Trust is playing catch-up. By cleaning up after a storm, are we doing general maintenance or attempting to slow down natural evolution? I guess we’ll see. Truly, though, we are putting in the most effort at the most significant places.
Oh, look; it’s starting to rain again.
by George Jacobi