COLUMBUS _ Like a dog whose bark is worse than its bite, dark thunderheads drove us inside, but only a few drops of rain pockmarked the dust.

``To think we were nearly under water a year ago today and now the lawn is dying of thirst,’’ said Uncle Chet, who poured himself a glass of water.

``I do wish it would rain,’’ I said, ``even on the weekend.’’

``That’s because you have next week off.’’

``No; that’s because I have plenty to do inside, as well as out,’’ I said over the sounds of Avril Lavigne’s ``Complicated’’ coming from upstairs.

``How far did you get?’’ asked Hon, who’d been doing her banking on the computer.

``One side of the house,’’ I said.

``Not even one side, and we’re going to need more cedar chips,’’ said Uncle Chet.

``I can go downtown and get some,’’ she volunteered, ``but I don’t think the kids want to go.’’

``Are they both upstairs?’’ I asked.

``Yes. They’ve been up there all morning.’’

``They need to get outside,’’ Uncle Chet said, and we all looked out the kitchen window as a ray of sun glinted through the gloom. This storm, like the last several, was blowing over, and though we live in a wetland, the dry spell was disconcerting.

``We can put them to work,’’ I said.

``Why don’t we take them up to the waterfall?’’ said Uncle Chet.

``If there is a waterfall.’’

``We could take a couple of shovels and dig out that pool,’’ he said. ``We had it pretty deep last time.’’

``That’s true,’’ I said.

`` I’ll bet the kids would like that,’’ he added.

``I’ll bet they would,’’ said Hon and called upstairs over the music.

Buddy came running, and at a leisurely pace, his older sister came down the stairs.

``Want to go for a hike?’’ asked Uncle Chet.

``Yes,’’ said our 6-year old, but the miscreant, who’s as tall as her mother now, had opened the refrigerator and was perusing the contents as if she had all the time in the world.

``How about you?’’ Hon asked her.

``Do we have any ice cream?’’

``You can have ice cream when we get back.’’ Uncle Chet impressed her into his army. ``We’ll take some trail food with us, and you’d better change into your shorts. We’re going to make a swimming pool.’’

``A wading pool,’’ she corrected him, but didn’t say no.

A half-hour later, we were hot and sticky, nearing the deep, narrow gorge that water had carved into the wooded hillside. Ordinarily, you could hear the waterfall from far away, but the sound was weaker today. Just one side of the falls was spilling over the rocky ledge, some 20 feet up, but it was cold and splashed at the bottom, covering us in a cool mist.

We sat down in the shallow pool in front of the falls, pulling out rocks, digging out sand and slowly it began to deepen. The water lapped over Buddy’s legs, then over mine, inching upward, ``So what’re you going to do on your vacation?’’ asked Uncle Chet.

``Stay right here and drink beer,’’ I said.

``And iced tea for us,’’ said the miscreant.

``Or I could panel the living room, finish mulching around the house, pour a concrete pad for basketball and try to market my new song,’’ I said.

``I’d stay up here,’’ he said. ``I’ll be over after Tuesday, but I’m going to D.C. tomorrow.’’

``To protest the war?’’

``The war, Bush, the Republican Supreme Court, all the ones in Congress who favor torture, the whole mess,’’ he said. ``The government’s in such shambles it’s hard to focus on anything except the war. That’s one thing that can be stopped as soon as the oil companies and their manikins concede they’re not going to keep Iraq’s reserves.’’

``Which is never,’’ I said. ``And what about the surge, leading us to victory?’’

``The surge is just a ploy to keep the money flowing,’’ said Uncle Chet. ``But I’m going down there to protest the court. If it leans over any further right, the judges are going to have to change their robes from black to white.’’

I laughed.

``And David Duke will be the next justice, deciding on our civil rights and liberties, along with Scalia, Alito, Thomas and Roberts," said Uncle Chet.

``Now, that would be over the edge.’’

``But of course, we could count on the Democrats to mount a vigorous protest,’’ he said, ``for about a week before bowing and admitting that Duke does have a constituency.’’

``That’s why I’m still independent,’’ I said and lifted a good-sized boulder out of the water.

___

Cooperstown News Bureau Reporter Tom Grace is traveling with his Uncle Chet, who he says is imaginary. Grace’s column appears twice monthly.