Chapter 7
With fall, the cotton fields were almost ready for harvest. After all our hard work, the crop looked to be a good one and spirits were high in the house. Dad was very hopeful the good crop would turn things around.
I went fishing at Waller Creek almost every evening that summer and into the fall. We had finally gotten some rain by then, and I would often get caught in the rain while fishing. That was when the fish were biting best, though, so I would just stay out there if a shower came up. Often, I’d see Mrs. Beatrice carrying an umbrella on her evening walks.
Things felt different that summer. The whole year it seemed. All the new things that I faced, like the fact that Grandpa passed away, or that I inherited the orchard and learned how broke we were, it was all very weird to me. Maybe that’s what it was supposed to be like growing up. I don’t know, but every evening that I stood by that creek with my fishing pole in hand, I could tell something was different. I didn’t know what it was until one evening in late September.
Dad and Sooter were in the barn preparing the cotton picker for the harvest. The way they were working feverishly, I could tell that the first picking day would either be tomorrow or the next. The cotton was ready for sure. The fields were a little wet and muddy but it would be no problem for the picker to cut right through it.
“Hand me that wrench over there, would you Nick?” my dad called out as I peered through the barn door. Sooter was behind the machine, checking over parts and gears. I grabbed a large wrench that was sitting on the workbench and brought it to him.
“We headin’ out in the mornin’?” I asked.
“Sure are,” Dad said, without looking up. “I wanta get out there before it gets too muddy, that cotton don’t need to get wet no more. It’s time to get pickin’.”
“You need any help?” I asked. I didn’t really want to help working on the huge machine, but I asked anyway. I didn’t know the first thing about it, but I asked, being as I was going to have to learn that big sucker one day anyway. I knew what the answer would be.
“No, son. We’ve got it under control. You can go on fishin’ if you want. How’s it look back there, Sooter?” he yelled out.
“She lookin’ fine, Mr. Havens,” Sooter yelled back. “Just wanta make sho these blades is greased up good. Hey there, Mr. Nick. Gonna get ya some worms, eh?”
I nodded. “Yeah, guess I’m headin’ that way again.”
Sooter chuckled and continued working. “Go catch us some good ones then. Better git since there be a storm comin’.”
“There is?” I asked curiously. “How do you know?”
Dad shot up and shook his wrench at Sooter. “Don’t be talkin’ about no storm, now! That cotton can’t take no more rain, dang it! Quit sayin’ that!”
“How do you know a rain is comin’? Seems fine right now?” I asked.
“Just feels like it is all,” Sooter shrugged. “There be somethin’ in the air.”
We didn’t know how right he was at the time, but he hit the nail on the head. He must have had the weird feeling I was having too, the feeling I’d had all summer long.
They kept working like madmen getting the picker ready, so I grabbed my pole and tackle box and headed down to the creek, Mosey following close behind as he always did. Digging up some worms near the water’s edge I soon had plenty of crawlers in a small metal can sitting next to me. Easing my line into the water I took my usual spot on the ground. My thoughts began to wander as I watched the line bob up and down in the calm creek.
Unbelievable, it was my last year in high school. But, to that day, I still hadn’t figured out what I wanted to do after graduation. With my grades, college was a far cry away and the only thing I could do well was farm. I just figured I would follow in my dad and grandpa’s footsteps.
On the other hand, I had started to hear other boys talking about the war going on overseas. I wouldn’t turn eighteen until early the next year, but then I’d be old enough for the draft. I was certain, and so were many of friends, that sooner or later Uncle Sam would come calling. To be honest, my friends and I were pretty nervous about the whole thing. We’d heard some pretty darn scary stories about that war, so every time the subject came up, the conversation quickly turned to something else. We just avoided it.
I noticed the sky turning a weird color in the distance, but I forgot about it as my pole jerked in my hand. I stood and grasped my fishing pole with a firm grip. After a brief struggle, I pulled out a nice keeper. That fish was more than eight inches long, a pretty nice catch for a creek that size, I thought, looking it over and pulling it off the hook. I was about to put the fish in my basket when suddenly, something dawned on me.
“What’s a big sucker like you doin’ way down here in this creek?” I said out loud, staring at the large fish. I shook my head, not believing what I was about to do. “You probably come a long ways, buddy. Might as well let ya keep goin’.” With that, I threw the fish back in the water. It thrashed its tail on the surface, before calming itself and swimming away.
Just then, I heard a rumble in the distant sky. “Dang it,” I said. “That Sooter was right.” I baited my hook again though. I wasn’t about to let a late summer shower stop me from fishing.
It wasn’t before long that the clouds began to roll in and the sky turned eerily dark. Oddly, the clouds were rolling in, but on the ground the air was as calm as could be. It was so calm that the leaves weren’t even rustling on the branches. And it was quiet. The only thing I could hear was the creek water trickling by. I shook my head and thought, What a weird evening.
I don’t know if it was just my imagination, but it seemed the water in the creek was rising steadily. I decided to test my theory, picking up a large rock near the edge of the creek and set my can of worms on it. The water line was about two feet from it. I kept my eye on it while I continued to fish.
A breeze came along that finally broke the eerie calm. Soon, rain began to fall and the wind quickly picked up out of the east. Mosey whimpered uncomfortably.
“Ah, it’s alright boy. Just a little rain,” I said, patting him on the head.
Right on schedule, I noticed Mrs. Beatrice coming down the other side of the creek. She was carrying her trusty umbrella with her. She must have had that feeling about the rain too. I tell you, she and Sooter should have been weather forecasters.
“Evenin’ Mrs. Bea,” I called out.
“Evenin’.” She nodded as she passed me by before stopping in her tracks and staring at the creek. It was the first time she’d ever stopped walking when I was nearby. It always seemed she tried to walk past me as fast she could but not this time. I guessed something had distracted her.
She opened her umbrella as the rain began to come down steadily, soon falling harder and at a very strange angle. She stood there, holding her umbrella against the wind, looking puzzled at the creek. Good, it wasn’t just me. She looked concerned as she slowly set back towards her house.
As she walked away I saw her trying hard to keep a hold of her umbrella in the fierce wind. Looking away, I pulled my ball cap down tight to shield my eyes from the rain.
Training my eye once again on the fishing line, a peculiar object came floating into view, bobbing on the surface of the water. It was the small can of worms that I had placed on the large rock. I was amazed to see it floating by. The water in the creek was definitely rising.
“What the heck?” I shouted out loud. The large rock that I’d set the can upon had been devoured by the rising creek.
“Whoa,” I said again, worried. “What’s going on? It’s just a little shower.”
Mosey was pacing back and forth and whimpering, clearly not happy with what was happening.
“Dang it,” I said in frustration. “Let’s get under that tree and wait it out, Mosey.”
You didn’t have to tell him twice. We quickly ran for cover under a nearby oak tree, one about fifty feet from the creek and with plenty of
roots jutting out. We sat on the roots, trying to keep out of the wind and rain. I didn’t understand at the time how the water was rising in such a short time, but I knew that the further from the creek we were, the better I felt.
Soon, the rain was coming down in buckets. There was so much rain that I wouldn’t be able to make a dash back to the house without getting soaked to the bone. I was still hoping it would pass over, because there was still plenty of good fishing time left but it didn’t take me long to figure out the fishing was done for the day. Sitting under the tree shaking my head, I tried to keep the blowing rain out of my face.
Hardly five minutes had gone by when I happened to notice the creek had become a small river, now no more than twenty or thirty feet away from the tree. It was then I knew what was happening. I had heard people talk about flash-floods before. The stories were all the same. They’d always started out with, Did you hear about what happened to so and so? Never was it about anything anyone had actually seen.
But, I was sure seeing it. I’d never seen water rise so fast in all my life. I was definitely getting worried. So was Mosey. He finally took off like the wind back towards the house, leaving me by myself. I looked around the tree, figuring that I was going to have to make a run for it myself. Mosey was gone and the can of worms was probably in the next county. All I had left was my fishing pole.
The wind was roaring, now seeming to come from all directions. The rain was coming down fiercely too. Suddenly, I heard a faint cry in the distance. Standing underneath the large oak tree and shading my eyes from the wind and rain, I strained to hear the cry again. It was unmistakable; it was a cry of distress coming from downstream.
The creek had become a churning mass of rapids, getting ever closer to my sanctuary. Nevertheless, I ran out from under the tree to try and see where the cries were coming from.
“Help!” I heard the voice cry out again, faintly.
My face turned ashen when I realized who was yelling for help. “Mrs. Bea…” I whispered.
Grabbing my fishing pole, I dashed out into the rain, trying to follow the distressed voice.
“Keep callin’ out!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “I can’t see you!”
“Help!!!” Mrs. Beatrice yelled again.
Her voice was sounding weaker, but I tried not to panic. Running along the edge of the water, I finally spotted her holding on to a tree root with both hands. The churning water swirled all around her, sometimes washing over her head. Somehow she had slipped along the edge of the rising water and lost her footing. The water had carried her across to the other side of raging river. How she had grabbed on to that tree root, I’ll never know.
“Hang on!” I called out. It was a pretty dumb thing to suggest, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. What else was she going to do?
I looked around, trying to figure out a way to go in after her. I was a good swimmer, but the current was too much. I had to somehow pull her out of the water.
The rain kept pelting me. My clothes were soaked through and through. Mrs. Malloy was clearly terrified, holding on for dear life to that tree root.
“I’m comin’ Mrs. Bea. Don’t you worry!”
“I can’t hold on to it!” she answered. Despite all the rain and water, I could see the tears in her eyes and the fearful expression on her face.
The water was dreadfully cold, but I stepped into it, reminding myself how Mrs. Bea was probably feeling in that churning mess.
“I’m comin’ Mrs. Bea!” Under the fast current I felt for something to use to brace myself. I figured that if she was holding onto a tree root, there must be others. Sure enough, I found a sturdy root that I could lodge my feet under, allowing me to stretch out for Mrs. Bea. With my fishing pole in hand, I eased myself on top of the raging water. Rain, wind, sticks and other floating debris swirled around our bobbing bodies, but my feet were curled firmly under the root and I was able to steady myself in the water. I stretched my fishing pole to her.
“Grab on Mrs. Bea!” I called out frantically. “I’ll pull you in!” The water was almost covering her now. It wouldn’t be long before she was washed away in the raging current, but she didn’t move. She was frozen in fear.
“Come on! You have to grab on to it!” I yelled again.
She began to reach one hand out to the fishing pole, holding on for dear life with the other. The pole was just inches from her hand when she suddenly pulled her hand back.
“Look out!” she screamed.
It was too late. A thick tree branch came rushing towards my head and before I could duck its path, an edge struck me on the right side of my head. Stunned by the impact, the fishing pole nearly slipped from my hands, but I grasped it tightly even as my entire head throbbed with pain. It happened quickly, but I never lost consciousness. I knew I still had a job to do.
“Oh Lord no. You okay?” Mrs. Bea called out. I figured that she thought I was a goner. Her eyes widened in disbelief as my body bobbed on the water, still holding onto the fishing pole.
I shook my head, trying to shake the cobwebs loose, but I had never felt so much pain. The water gurgled as it crashed against my bloodied head. Focusing, I trained my eyes on Mrs. Bea, stretching my arms out as far as I could. To my amazement, she leapt to the outstretched pole and grabbed on with both hands.
“Okay! I got you!” I screamed, pulling with all my might and digging my feet around the underwater roots. I pulled her towards me, inch by inch and soon we were face to face in the raging wrath of the river.
“Grab my hands!” I reached out my left hand and she grabbed hold of it. “Come on, just a little more!” I pulled her towards me and soon I was able to get my other arm under her shoulder. I flung her trembling frame over to the edge of the bank.
“Grab that one sticking out!” I said, pointing at a root on the muddy edge. Mrs. Bea grabbed the root and slowly pulled herself to safety, her feet steadied on the river bottom. On the shore, she reached her hand out and I grabbed it. She pulled me towards the edge and I flopped onto the mud.
The rain continued to pelt us in the face as we watched Waller Creek race by in a sea of pandemonium. Mrs. Bea slumped on the ground, trying to catch her breath. She coughed and wheezed but soon I could tell that she was going to be alright.
“Nice day for a walk, huh?” I shouted to her in the fierce wind.
A smile crept over her face as the rain continued to pelt down. It was the first time I had ever seen her smile.
“Well,” she said, gathering herself. “It was a nice day.”
I chuckled at her but soon her face dropped. “Yo head’s bleedin’,” she said, pointing at the side of my head.
I reached my hand to my head. Blood was washing down the side of my face and neck and onto my clothes. At that moment I realized how sore the side of my head was, and thought it was just a bad cut. That log had hit me good.
“It just cut me is all. I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “We need to get outta here. Let’s go to my house. You can wait it out there!”
She readily agreed and we both stood, a little wobbly from the cold water. I helped her walk through the driving rain back to our house. Deep puddles of water and thick mud had gathered all over the place. As we approached the house, I could see all kinds of hurried activity going on. My dad and Sooter were racing around out in the rain, shouting back and forth incomprehensibly.
I could see Phoebe and Mom standing on the porch, but just barely. It was hard to see since it had begun to get dark.
“Look! I see somebody!” Phoebe called out.
Dad and Sooter stopped and I could see Sooter strain against the wind and rain and shield his eyes.
“Bea!!” he yelled. “What you doin’ out here?”
They both came running over and Sooter took Beatrice under his arm and guided her to the porch.
“Son! You okay?” Dad called out. “You’ve got blood on you!”
�
�Just a branch hit me,” I answered. “Cut me a little is all. It’ll be fine.”
“Get your mama to dry it for you,” Dad said. “I’m gonna need your help out there. Storm’s comin’ in and we got to keep it from floodin’ over everything!”
“What do ya mean, comin’? It’s already here!”
Dad looked at me with the most placid expression I had ever seen. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “I’m afraid it’s gonna get worse.”
Sooter helped his wife to the porch and Mom brought her inside to get her dry and warm. Then, she dried my bloodied ear and put a small bandage on it. I didn’t know why at the time, but my head was still throbbing.
Phoebe watched as Mom patched the side of my head. She shook her head and said, “Now you got hit on the head.” I looked at her puzzled, but realized what she meant, nodding in agreement that it was a crazy coincidence. I patted her on the shoulder and dashed out the door.
I ran towards the barn to help Dad and Sooter. The wind was blowing like mad and the rain was falling sideways.
“Sooter and I are headin’ over to help Seamus!” Dad yelled over the driving rain. “We gotta keep the water from runnin’ over Porters Field! It’s the only way to keep ‘em all from floodin’!”
There was no time to waste. In the darkness, men were running in the direction of Porters Field, the highest ground between the rising creek and our cotton field.
“Go grab as many sand bags from the barn as you can and throw ‘em in the back of the truck!” Dad commanded.
I ran to the barn and scrounged around for the old sacks that were rolled up in a dirty corner. The entire barn creaked and moaned under the pressure of the wind and rain, the rafters and beams snapping and crackling with every gust. I found the pile of sacks. Throwing them over my shoulder, I ran back into the fury.
We piled into the truck and Dad drove like a madman up to Potters Field. As soon as we arrived, Seamus McDowell waved his arms frantically.
“Right here!” Seamus shouted. “She’s risin’ fast. But a barrier a good three feet or so could be enough to keep ‘er at bay!”
But then, Seamus pulled Dad aside. “Joe, I just got word back at the house. The Chickasawhay is runnin’ over east of here. Pretty soon the creeks will be runnin’ through the town. They say they could use some help if we can spare somebody.”
“They’ll all go under for sure,” Dad said. “Nick can get there fast in the truck. We have enough here to build this wall.” He looked straight at me and handed me the keys. “We can handle it here, son! Get downtown and help them there! And be careful in this wind!”
The situation was becoming a nightmare, I thought, jumping into the cab and driving as fast as I could towards town. The roads were awful, with mud and water everywhere. I could barely get the truck around some of the deeper spots. My head ached and my ear continued to throb. The struggle in the creek with Mrs. Malloy had been exhausting and I had to dig deep to find the strength to continue. As I drove, the wind continued to blow with a mighty gale.
I soon arrived in town to a scene of organized chaos. A chain of workers were building a wall of sandbags but the rain had already started to cover the downtown streets threatening every nearby building and house.
People were everywhere, sloshing around in the ankle-deep water. Folks from all over had come into town when word got out that it was about to flood. I even saw classmates from school. Never before had so many of us seen such a storm.
Soon I saw my friend Asa in a line, throwing sandbags to the next person down the chain. I ran over and jumped in line to help throw the heavy bags.
“Hey! You made it!” Asa yelled to me, surprised. “Isn’t this somethin’? I never seen nothin’ like it!” He tossed me a heavy sandbag and I handed it to the next person.
“Me neither!” I shouted back.
“And the water is still risin’,” Asa continued. “They say it might not stop for hours!” Asa glanced at the side of my head as we continued to throw sandbags. “What the heck happened to you?”
“What?” I could hardly hear a thing over the pouring rain.
“I said, what the heck happened to your head?”
“Oh! It’s nothin’. I just got hit by a tree branch, is all.”
“Looks pretty beat up!”
“What?”
Asa let it drop. “Nevermind!”
Several men came running to our line. There was more work to do in other areas of downtown. “We need some more men down by the Main Street bridge!” one man yelled in our direction. “Creeks comin’ up too fast! She’s gonna bust loose!”
There were enough men on our line, so Asa and I both ran in the direction of the small, one-lane bridge, but when we arrived, the tiny bridge had already disappeared under the massive current. The water’s edge was only maybe five feet from the street level.
“Form a line, men!” someone yelled. “Quickly, quickly now! This is where we gotta cut ‘er off! She breaks free here, the whole town will go under!”
Men with shovels began to fill bags quickly near a large pile of dirt that had been rushed in by the town’s only maintenance truck. How they gathered up that much dirt and sand so quickly, I’ll never know.
I stationed myself at the tail of the line, stacking the bags as fast as I could but soon water was crashing against the base of the bridge wall the only part of the bridge left uncovered. Rain was pouring down from above and the raging current was crashing into my feet, but we worked like a well-oiled machine. The wall grew longer and then higher as we tried desperately to hold the water back.
Minutes became hours and despite the weariness in everyone’s eyes, we’d built a sandbag wall nearly seven feet high. The wall held back the bulk of the floodwater but the streets were already flooded. The best we could do was to keep it from running inside the buildings.
At about two in the morning, the worst of the storm was directly on top of us and a decision was made to stop the sandbagging and get to safety. City officials had everyone there go to the courthouse, the strongest and sturdiest building downtown. Soaked, the whole lot of us crammed inside the old courthouse and waited out the storm for the rest of the night.
I was exhausted. The pain on the side of my head had become a dull ache. I felt like there was water inside my right ear and, for the life of me, I could not get that dang water out. It was driving me crazy. So, I just sat there on the floor in the courthouse hallway, along with dozens other weary people as the wind and rain raged outside throughout the night. There was no telling what we would see after daylight but everyone in the courthouse knew we had done our best and likely had done enough to at least save the town from completely being ruined. However, the thoughts on everyone’s minds wandered elsewhere. Only time would reveal what we would find back at our homes and farms. For now, we waited and listened as the worst storm in decades continued to rage outside the courthouse walls.
I had no idea what time it was, I was so exhausted I had fallen asleep right in the hallway. I could’ve slept just about anywhere, I was so tired, but I was stunned into coherence when some man came by and shook my legs. “Wake up, buddy,” the man said, moving down the long line of people asleep in the hallway. “Storm’s over.”
I rubbed my eyes and began to feel the aches all over my body. I didn’t know if it was from all the hard work or if it was the awkward position that I fell asleep in. My clothes were still damp and I could a feel a cold coming on. I knew I needed to get home as soon as I could, since the phones were out and I couldn’t call them to let them I know I was alright.
Activity picked up in the hallway as people woke and started to head for the door. Pulling myself to my feet, I stumbled toward the large glass double-doors that led outside, noticing that the doors had been covered with plywood. Matter of fact, all the windows in the courthouse had been covered. I had no idea other folks had been working hard elsewhere while we were sandbagging. Seeing the town c
ome together like that was an amazing sight.
The next sight was even more amazing. Stepping outside onto the courthouse steps, I saw my first glimpse of the downtown area. Sandbags stacked four or five feet high lined every sidewalk, but the streets were all underwater. It looked just like a scene from Venice. Incredibly, the sky was clearing and the sun was peeking through the diminishing clouds.
As people emerged from the building, comments ranged from awestruck to thankful. Soon it became clear that our efforts the previous night had paid off. As store owners and building managers surveyed the damage, they found that very little water had entered any of the buildings downtown. People were hugging and shouting with joy. Some people headed straight for the church and others snapped photos of the incredible scene downtown. I knew I would have if I’d had a camera on me.
Suddenly, I remembered something. “The truck…” I said under my breath.
I sloshed my way down the slippery sidewalks over to where I had left the truck. All I remembered was parking it somewhere on a side road on a dirt shoulder. I began to worry that I may have lost my dad’s only farm truck. Did it wash away? Did it get thrown into another vehicle? My mind raced as I searched for the truck.
At the edge of town, I was overcome with relief when I spotted the old pickup, right where I’d left it. However it sat a bit tilted to one side. I glanced at it curiously as I approached. It was then I noticed I had parked the truck next to a drainage ditch. The left side of the truck had sunk slightly in the soft mud on the one side.
I walked to the left side of the truck and my eyes widened when I saw the muddy brown water line on the side of the truck. It reached all the way up to the door handle!
“Holy cow!” I exclaimed out loud.
The water in the drainage ditch had risen quickly in the flash-flood. I was lucky the water hadn’t carried the truck downstream. The water must have risen and receded quickly, leaving the truck deep in the mud. I opened the cab door, fearing the worst.
To my surprise, only the floor boards were soaked with water. The seats appeared to be dry.
“Huh,” I said to myself. “Well, that’s not too bad.”
I struggled in my wet clothes to produce a set of keys from my pocket.
“Let’s see if she’ll start.”
I plopped down on the seat and immediately felt the cold, wet cushion squish under my rear end. The cab seat was soaked through and through with muddy water and I groaned with displeasure as my already soaked clothes got a little wetter.
“Dang it!” I said in frustration. I turned the key in the ignition and surprisingly, the engine roared to life. “Thank goodness.”
Next, I had to see how stuck she was in the mud. I hit the gas and the tires spun angrily, the truck tilting more to the left. I began to panic, thinking I might have to leave it and start walking home.
“Hey, kid!” a voice called out. “You need a push outta there too?” Several men were helping people get vehicles out of the mud. I tell you, those folks were more efficient than an army platoon.
“Yeah!” I shouted back. “She’s stuck pretty good.”
All five of them got behind the truck and slowly rocked it while I gave it some gas and within no time, the truck was freed of the muddy hole and I was on my way.
“Thanks fellas! You’re a lifesaver!” I said happily. One of them gave me a quick wave as they ran off to help others.
The destruction was evident everywhere as I drove home. Tree limbs were down, mailboxes were knocked over, even the big drive-in theater screen had a huge hole blown through it. Some homes had suffered terrible damage, many with their windows blown in and others that looked much worse. I began to wonder if anyone had been injured. I hoped not.
My head was still sore and I still couldn’t get the water out of my right ear. I shook my head with my right ear downward, trying to shake it loose but still no luck. I noticed that sounds were muffled on one side of my head, but seemed it was because the water was still sloshing around in there. It was beginning to get frustrating, though.
I reached the pecan orchard and noticed the Havens Trees sign had blown over. The trees looked good but there were limbs and debris all over the place. It was a huge mess. I knew what I would be doing for the weeks to come. So far, though, everything seemed to be okay.
My optimism began to fade as I got my first glimpse of the shacks down on the lane. Sooter’s home and many others had been knocked off their foundations or flat-out destroyed. My heart sank as I slowed down to get a closer look. No one was around though. I expected to see folks milling about the damaged homes, but no one was.
My jaw dropped as I reached the cotton field. What had been a healthy, vibrant field of puffy white cotton plants had become an endless field of devastation. Most of the plants were broken, lying flat on the ground, the bowls of cotton muddy brown and sopping wet. The entire field was ruined. I only hoped that some of the fields were still alright.
I got home and was amazed to see that every last person that lived on the lane was gathered at our house. I would later learn that the storm had gotten so rough that Dad and Sooter had gathered everyone from the lane and brought them to our house, with some staying inside and others in the small storm shelter underground. But now that the storm was over, there must have been thirty people milling about outside.
Everyone saw me as I pulled the truck to a stop. It wasn’t long before I noticed Mom, Phoebe and Mrs. Bea on the porch.
Phoebe yanked on Mom’s sleeve. “Mom! Look. It’s Nicky!”
Mom’s face softened at my arrival and I could see her breathe a heavy sigh of relief. Soon, I spotted Dad and Sooter with some other men over by the barn. Or at least, what was left of it.
Getting out of the truck cab, I must have looked like a drowned river rat, but I wasn’t really thinking about my appearance. The night had been so long, I had plumb forgotten how ragged I must have looked.
“You alright there, boy?” a familiar voice asked. It was Timmons. “You look like you been dragged around in the mud the whole night!” He was probably right. I’m sure I looked a mess.
I patted him on the shoulder. “I’m fine, thanks. Still kickin’ at least.” He chuckled.
The barn looked worse than I did. It had all but fallen down completely. It was leaning terribly to one side and many of the wooden panels had been ripped clean from the roof and the sides. No one dared to go inside in fear that it may collapse.
Dad looked like he had just lost a title fight that had gone fifteen rounds. I could tell he hadn’t slept the entire night. He was surveying the barn, his face a mirror of the barn’s devastation.
“Hey Dad,” I said to him, standing behind him.
Dad whirled around and immediately threw his arms around me. I was surprised. He rarely showed this kind of emotion. But I could tell that he was relieved that, though the farm had taken a licking, at least we were all safe. I felt terrible that I had left them not knowing if I was safe. It hadn’t dawned on me until then.
“Thank the Lord you’re home, son,” Dad mumbled, with his arms still around my neck. I hugged him back as tight as I could.
“I’m alright, Dad. And the town is alright too. We saved everything down there. Just a few broken windows is all.”
He let me go, patting my shoulder and smiling. “Well done,” he said, relieved. “You did good. I’m proud of you.”
“’Bout time you showed up,” another familiar voice said. “We wasn’t gonna start cleaning up ‘round here ‘til you showed up!”
I turned around to see Sooter grinning from ear to ear. “You wasn’t gonna start without me, was ya?” I laughed.
“Heck no!” Sooter answered with another loud laugh. “Good to see you Mr. Nick.”
“Good to see you too, Sooter,” I said, extending my hand to shake his. I meant it too. I was so glad to see everybody.
Sooter grabbe
d my hand and pulled me in for a quick hug, which took me by surprise. “Glad you alright, Mr. Nick.” I nodded in appreciation, but soon we turned our attention to the barn. “Don’t look too good does it?”
“No, it sure doesn’t,” I said. “What do you think, Dad?”
Dad scratched his lip, shaking his head in disgust. “I don’t know, son. I’m afraid to see what it looks like in there. If you ask me, the only thing holdin’ ‘er up is the picker.”
He was right. The cotton picker was still inside the barn and on account of how tall it was it was probably all that was keeping the barn from crashing down completely. This was not looking good at all.
“No telling what kind of damage she’s got on ‘er,” Dad continued, meaning the picker.
Phoebe came running up behind me and tackled me, nearly throwing me to the ground. “You made it!” she shouted. “Where the heck you been anyway?” She socked me in the side of my arm in frustration. Mom followed close behind her, smiling at me.
“Hey Phoebs,” I answered. “I was downtown helpin’ out. We all slept in the courthouse when the worst of it came through.”
“Holy cow!” she exclaimed. “Did you hear that Mom?”
“Hello son,” Mom said, sweetly, kissing the top of my forehead.
“Hey Mom.”
“Your bandage came off,” Mom said, pulling me down to look at the side of my head. “You sure got banged up last night. Does it still hurt?”
“No. I just have some water in my ear that won’t come out is all.”
“You look like you been rollin’ around in a pig pen,” Phoebe said sarcastically, waving her hand in front of her nose. “And, you smell like a pig too.”
“Thanks.”
We stared at the destroyed barn as people began to walk back to their own homes to try and save what they could. Our house had suffered quite a bit of damage, but we could still live in it. At least there was that.
Our town had been dealt a severe blow. It wasn’t before long that we learned that all the cotton in the area was lost and the acreage had been reduced to mud. Even the pecan trees had lost most of their shucks so the pecan harvest would be minimal at best that year. We were thankful though, that no one lost their life.
As the days slowly passed and the cleanup began, it became very evident that my family had to make some hard decisions. But before that, we needed to help those in greater need than we were. Some people on the lane had lost their homes completely.
Word got around that it had been a tropical storm that had formed in the Gulf of Mexico and quickly came ashore outside of Biloxi and headed due north. Our area was directly in its path and because the ground was still hard from the long drought, most of the destruction was caused by flash flooding. Wind was the other factor in the destruction. Some called the tropical storm a full-fledged hurricane, but as far as I was concerned, whatever they wanted to call it, it was bad. The devastation it left behind was awful. The storm would go down in history and was one of the longest nights most folks could remember. People still talk about it to this day.
Down on the lane, some men had gathered to repair each salvageable home, with others helping to clear away the rubble of those that were beyond repair. Some families on the lane had already decided to move away and find other farms that needed workers.
Not Sooter and Mrs. Bea. No, they didn’t have any plans to go anywhere. Despite how damaged their house was, it was their home and they didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Weeks passed and we finally were able to repair many of the homes. The last house we worked on was Sooter’s. Even though it was so damaged, he wanted to make sure the other homes were repaired first. Although he never once complained about the damage, you could see it in his face that he was grateful to all the folks that helped him put it back together.
One day, after most of the repair work had been done, I found Sooter in his favorite spot under the big pecan tree. Things were starting to get back to normal and I was glad to see him lying there with his cap pulled over his eyes, dozing in the late afternoon sun.
I walked under the tree and into the shade, trying not to wake him, knowing that he must have been tired from all the days of repair work. From the top of the hill I saw that most of the homes on the lane were finally back into shape. We had come a long way since the storm.
“You gonna sit down or just stand there?” Sooter mumbled under his breath.
“What?” I said, startled. I hadn’t been paying attention. I was just staring off into space.
“You hard of hearin’ or somethin’?” he asked, lifting his cap to look at me. “Sit down before you fall down.”
“No. I an’t hard of hearin’,” I answered, drolly. “Still can’t get this dang water out my ear though. It still feels like I’m listenin’ with my head ducked in a barrel of water.”
“Maybe you should see the doc.”
“Maybe you should forget about it and hand me some of those pecans you got stashed. I know you hidin’ ‘em somewhere.”
Sooter produced a small sack of shelled pecans and handed it my way. I munched hungrily on a handful.
“You gonna be ready to start shakin’ them trees in a few weeks?” Sooter piped up.
“Well, yeah. But do they have anything on ‘em?”
“There’ll be a few,” he said, closing his eyes.
Sitting against the tree, I ate a few more pecans, good and ready to take a cat nap myself.
Before I got too comfortable, Sooter brought up the inevitable. He had a way of doing that. “Things ain’t lookin’ too good over there, is they?” he asked bluntly. “Think this’ll be yo last year helpin’ with those trees?”
I shot up against the tree. “What the heck are you talkin’ about? I’ll be here next year.”
“You’s about to finish school ain’t ya? What you gonna do after you get outta school?”
I didn’t know yet, so I spent a moment trying to think of something to say. After all, there had been so much going on, I hadn’t had a second to think about life after high school. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I figured I’d stay right here and work the farm.”
“May not be no farm to work.”
I turned way around and gave him a dirty look. “Why would say that?” I turned back and faced forward again. “Things ain’t that bad.”
“Besides,” he continued as if I hadn’t said a thing, “A boy like you should be thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ some more schoolin’. Go find a good college. That’s where I’d be headin’ if I was you.”
“Well, you ain’t me,” I snapped. “Plus, no school ain’t gonna want me, not with my grades. I tell you, I’ll be lucky to graduate high school.” Munching on the pecans, something else crossed my mind. I stared at the ground, collecting my thoughts. “I’ll be eighteen soon. Boys that turn eighteen start gettin’ notices for the draft. I’ve already heard of some guys from school gettin’ their draft notice. They done got shipped off to Vietnam, wherever that is. That’s where they send guys like me.”
Sooter leaned forward on one knee and looked me straight in the eye. “You don’t know that,” he said, gravely.
I looked back at him. “It’s true. As soon as you turn eighteen, you get drafted and you go off to fight some war.” My voice started to sound nervous but I was positive it was more fact than rumor. Sooter knew it too.
“That’s what you wanta do?” he asked.
“I don’t even know who we’re fightin’ for cryin’ out loud. It can’t be that bad though. We’re supposed to be the best, right? If we’re helping out that country, then I suppose I should do my part.”
“You don’t wanta fight no war,” Sooter said. “School is the best place, if you ask me.”
“If they don’t draft me, I’ll just stay here. This is where I belong anyway.”
“Now, you listen to me,” Sooter said, getting to his feet, looking k
ind of angry. “You got a whole life waitin’ for ya out there, Mr. Nick. There ain’t no farm left to work no mo, ya understand? That storm was bad for yo mama and daddy, but it could be a ticket to somethin’ new and better for you and yo sister. When somethin’ like that comes along, you gots to take it! You is smart, Mr. Nick. You is real smart. You just don’t think you are. You can make it at a college if you want to.”
“No college is gonna take a dumbass like me, Sooter,” I said, loudly.
“There ain’t no way you gonna know that unless you give it a shot! Ya hear me?” he shot back. “And, you don’t belong in no war!”
With that he left me sitting there and walked off in a huff. I’d never seen him get so upset before. I was ticked off at the time but soon I came to my senses and figured that he was only trying to help me. I was just being stubborn and I’m sure it drove him crazy, just like it used to drive my folks crazy.
That night I sat on the couch in the family room watching some static-filled show on the television. I rarely watched TV but that night I felt like it.
“Son,” my mom said. “Son!” she said again. “Nicholas!” she said once again, shouting that time. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“Yeah! What is it, Mom?” I asked, looking at her insanely.
“I said did you finish your schoolwork?”
“Yeah,” I answered, staring back at the TV.
“Well, I don’t want you watching too much television. Besides, it’s getting late.”
I looked at her again. “What?”
Mom began to look concerned. She turned off the TV and sat next to me on the couch. I looked at her insanely again. I couldn’t believe she’d turned off the TV.
“I said it’s getting late,” Mom repeated. “Can’t you hear me when I’m talking to you?”
I began to get agitated. “Yeah, Mom. It’s just that I still have this water in my ear. I can’t get it out.”
Mom look worried. “I think we need to go see Dr. Dozous, Nick. You shouldn’t still have water in there. I’m going to call him first thing in the morning.”
Sitting on a stool next to me, Dr. Dozous peered into my right ear, holding a tiny bright light.
“There’s still seems to be some fluid on the interior. We can get that outta there though,” he confirmed.
“I knew it!” I exclaimed.
He put some drops in my ear and within no time, some dirty fluid rushed out of my ear. Despite how relieved I was to get that water out of my ear, there was no change to the muffled quality of the sound.
“Is that better?” Dr. Dozous asked.
It did indeed feel better, that was for sure. “Yeah, it feels great to get that water out finally. But…” I trailed off.
“But what?” he asked.
Temporarily relieved, mom’s face fell when she saw the worried look on my face.
“What is it, Nicky?” she asked.
I finally decided to come clean. “I’ve been havin’ to turn my head to hear people. I thought it was because of the water. But…I still have to. Even now that the fluid is out.”
“What?” Mom yelped.
“Let’s not panic,” Dr. Dozous said. “Let’s take another look.”
For the next hour, the doctor examined my ear and my hearing, but he came to the conclusion that I was dreading nonetheless. In time, he said, the muffled sounds in my right ear would eventually go away. That is, the muffled sounds would be all my right ear would ever hear again.
He was right. Hardly two days went by before I stopped hearing the muffled sounds altogether. Just like that, and just a few months before my eighteenth birthday, I went completely deaf in my right ear.
Despite all the bad weather, there were some pecans that needed to be harvested that year. That would be one of the last pecan seasons I’d help with at Havens Trees.
Early on a Saturday morning in early November, I stood in front of the mirror in my bedroom, staring at myself. I sighed deeply and slipped the hearing aid on behind my bad ear. I stared at the large, uncomfortable device with contempt, shaking my head with disgust, knowing I would be the only graduating senior with a hearing aid. As a matter of fact, I was the only student wearing a hearing aid at school. It would be better if it actually helped, but the doctor made me start wearing it hoping that I might be able to start hearing in my bad ear, but it did little good. I couldn’t hear a thing.
I let my hair grow longer on the sides, so I could try to cover it up. It was the sixties, so nobody except my mom took much notice. She didn’t like it at all.
Heading outside after breakfast, I made my way to the pecan orchard. The group of men that had gathered to help out was much smaller than years past. They had already spread the tarps on the ground below the first tree.
Sooter was leaning against a fence post when I approached him wearing my ball cap pulled down over my ears. “You keep lettin’ yo hair grow like that, pretty soon you and yo sister gonna look like twins,” Sooter said with a laugh.
“Very funny,” I answered, rolling my eyes. “So how’s it look?”
“Gotta little work to do yet, maybe a couple three days worth,” he said. “Gonna need that agitator though.”
“Can’t do it,” I answered, without hesitation. “Ain’t nothin’ to secure it to. Tractor’s busted. It was in the barn too.”
Sooter scratched the back of his head, putting his hands on his hips and curling his lower lip. “I was afraid of that. Well, we gonna have to do it the old fashioned way then. We still got reachin’ poles don’t we?”
“Sure.”
“You ready to start climbin’?”
“Of course.”
“Then what are we waitin’ on?”
I laughed and flung my jacket around the top of a nearby fencepost and immediately began to climb the first tree on the row, still nimble as a monkey.
Once I was in a good spot, Timmons tossed me a pole and I caught it with one outstretched hand. I began to shake each branch as hard as I could. What few pecans were left began to fall like rain onto the soft canvas below. The men on the ground took some reaching poles and shook the lower branches. We cleared the first tree in no time and soon they dragged the tarps to the next tree.
We worked the rest of the day and finished nearly half of the grove shaking the trees by hand. The yield was low but it would still be enough to make a few dollars at the market.
We finished the entire pecan harvest late the next day. The men were happy to have some work but most were glad that the chores were done as we headed into winter. No one knew what would happen the next year. Some waited around to find out, but many decided to pack up and move to places with promises of steady work come spring.
Sooter stayed as he always did, happy that another year was completed. It was a hard year, but I knew he’d seen tougher times than these. He loved the orchard, as it was all he had known practically his entire life. To him, Havens Trees was his Heaven on Earth.
Shaking the Tree Page 7
