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pounce on new, gravel driveways. Fortunately they don’t come too often — maybe once or twice a year — but if you have just laid one of those long, traditional, country driveways of graded soil, packed with fresh stone chips, there is nothing more you can do except look through the window and watch the gullywasher do its work.
Then, when the sun comes out, fill the gully, pack the gravel down again, and chances are the next gullywasher will go somewhere else, far away, over the hill, perhaps to a newer, more tempting driveway.
Our driveway is old, and gullywashers now tend to give it a miss, but there were times when we had to grade and fill, sometimes by hand with wheelbarrow and shovel, because the rock-truck feared to go near the gully. I remember one night when my wife, Julia, was driving; it was raining so hard I couldn’t tell which way the wind was coming from. Later I learned it was from the northeast, and we were indeed driving through a genuine gullywasher.
When we reached home, the long driveway to the farmhouse was littered with washed gravel, and water was roaring through the culvert beneath our wheels. Next morning we
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