Flood
of '94
Flood
of '94We'd
seen high water before but
never like this. My
husband, waist deep in it, came
in from the barn shivering: "We'll
have to go upstairs now." The
sky never looked so close. Dirty
water rushed below us, pieces
of fence we'd just mended and
my best tin bucket. He
said, "Don't you dare cry." He
meant, "Something has to be held back." The
house trembled from the wrath. We
knew then we had to leave. Our
home. Our farm. Our
heifers bawling, "Ma, Ma." Bob
Lucas came by in his tractor and took us away. By
then the water was up to the cows' chins. They
don't like the wet, the cold; it
makes them want to lie down and sleep. It
was two days before we could come back. I'd
already imagined the worst: I
don't hope against hope. And
there they were, our beautiful Jerseys. They
bellowed to us, eyes wide. They
licked our hands. Somehow
Marianne had birthed a new calf. We
named her Miracle. We'll keep her forever. We
rolled up our sleeves and milked them underwater. Debra KaufmanCopyright
© 1997 Debra Kaufman