The Big Flood

In the fall of 1945 Mom and Dad and I lived in the little red house in Wendling, and

I began the second grade in the Wendling grade school, quite a change from the North Texas State Teacher’s College laboratory grade school I had attended in Denton.  Dad got back the job he had prior to the war, as head of Maintenance at Chase Gardens in Eugene.   He found jobs for Mom and Carldene there as well.  My aunt Carldene’s husband, David, had returned from the European Theater of Operation and was now working in the woods, bucking and trimming fallen logs, and the company offered housing for him and the other loggers.

One day in late December the rain began pouring down.  Walking home from school GD, who was now in kindergarten, and I looked at Mill Creek as we crossed the covered bridge.  The water was rising fast.  We hurried through the rain, our heads down, holding hands in the murky dusk.  There were no lights in my house so we continued on up the hill to where Grandma stood on the porch, holding an umbrella.  When she saw us she came running out.  “I’ve been looking for you boys.  I was worried you had washed away.  Come on in.  The radio says Springfield is flooding.”

As it got darker we began to worry that my folks would not make it home.  David called from his parents.  His sister in Marcola had told them that the Mohawk River was flooding Marcola and the bridge to Wendling was under water. 

What was I to do?   Granddad came home and said that Mill Creek was over the covered bridge to town.  We listened to the radio news from Eugene describe the rising Willamette River overflowing its banks.  Grandma said that I would have to bed down in GD’s room.

Then we hear the sound of a big truck.  Grandma peered out the window.  Lights from the truck were coming up the plank road.  It stopped at the bottom of the hill.

Grandma said, “My stars, if that isn’t the Downing cattle truck.”  The Downing family owned a lot of logged off land between Wendling and Marcola and ran a substantial cattle ranch.  Soon we saw three people hiking up the hill and the cattle truck turned around and headed downhill. 

It was Mom and Dad and Carldene walking up to us.  I was so relieved.  GD and I jumped around till Grandma told us to hush.  Grandad went to the door and we watched them take off their wet coats and shoes on the porch.  Grandma gave them towels. We were all laughing and asking questions.

They had made it as far as Marcola, but the water was too high to cross the bridge to Wendling.  The three of them were huddled in the rain trying to decide what to do when up drove Johhny Downing in his empty cattle truck.  He said he was sure the truck was high enough to make it across the bridge, and if the Abercrombie girls wanted to chance it they could hop in.  There was only room for three in the cab, so Dad had to climb in back and stand in the ankle deep manure.  We all laughed at that. 

Mom and Dad took me home and put me in bed while they ran water for the tub.

The next day the water had receded and life was back to normal.