No sun forecast to ignite the leaves,
but a raft of clouds before the storm
Christmas Eve, an atmospheric river
to fill the creeks and streams.
In 1955, Mill Creek’s rising measured
on the hour, on the concrete
steps into the house full of kids
and stacks of unopened presents.
Cut’s Studebaker pickup towed
our ’53 Buick out of a hole,
waves of the Kaweah swamped
its headlights on the way home.
drycrikjournal 
from Pearl (Fairman) Maxner How well I remember those Three rivers Floods! We once had to leave our homeacross the half-under-water Trailer Isle bridge and left our DeSoto Station wagon behind, which got buried in mud. Went across the street and stayed in the attic (us kids )of the home of the old Mehrten Ranch orchard there- just up the road from Tookie Homer’s dad.
Another time we ended up at my Aunt & Uncle’s (Don & Peggy Hunt) home behind the Baptist church on the hill close to the school. I remember walking to town with my Dad and watching the river lapping at the back of the stores. Terrifying to a 7 year old, but priceless days, really, when people pulled together and differences disappeared for awhile.
Thanks for the memory! Nice poem, keep ’em coming!Pearl
Wherever there is a human being, there is the opportunity for a kindness.
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Not many of us left who remember those days. Thanks for enriching them with your memories. Have a Merry Christmas!
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