Of Gods and Floods

Every story has two sides.

E.D. Martin

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Image By Jonathunder — Own work, GFDL 1.2, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15541729

Ritchie

In Sunday school we used to hear about Noah and his ark, and the animals going two-by-two. Our teacher always used to say the most important part of it was that the Flood served its purpose, and God said he wouldn’t send one never again.

We always laughed about that, because the rules were a little different when you lived in between two of the biggest rivers in the country. We got floods about near every year. Some were big and some weren’t even worth watching over the levees, but they happened nonetheless.

“Ritchie,” Granddaddy would say to me every year, “let this be a lesson to you. Who created the world?”

“God did, Granddaddy.”

“And who floods it?”

“Well, my teacher said it ain’t nobody’s fault, just the snow melting up in Minnesota with no other place to go.”

“Your teacher’s an idjit.” He paused, sucked on his teeth. “Mother Nature floods us in Cairo. And you know why?”

Of course I knew why, but I didn’t want to ruin his story. “No, why?”

“Cuz no matter if’n it be a woman on Earth or a woman in Heaven, she gonna do what she can to make her man look a fool!” He’d laugh until he wheezed, and then Aunt Ella would come out and shoo us all off the porch till he calmed down.

Sharon

Farming isn’t the easiest way to make a living. You do everything in your power to protect those crops — fancy fertilizers and pesticides, expensive equipment to quickly plant and harvest under the best conditions — but then there’s either too much rain or too little, scorching heat or unexpected frosts.

Grandma always said this is the best time in all of history to be farmers. “We’re gods, Sharon. We use meteorology to forecast the weather and adjust accordingly. We have levees to hold back the flood waters. My parents and grandparents didn’t have any of that. Even with such good soil, they’d have more bad years than good.”

“We still have bad years,” said my older sister Rayanne. At seventeen and about ready to head off to Mizzou, she knew everything about everything.

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E.D. Martin

Half hobo, half homesteader. Telling the “what if” stories of those around her. She/her. Read more at http://www.edmartinwriter.com