The Flood

It was a disaster in slow motion. The man sat on the levee, watching the river rise. Trees, debris and fire-ant balls swiftly floated past.  Off to the north, he could see the casino flooding in the distance.  The river was tormenting the land.

It was being called The Great Flood of 2011.  At least the lobby of the casino would get a good bath and not smell like smoke.  He laughed but then quickly knew that it would cost the state millions and hurt thousands. There was nothing funny about that. It was the second time that the state’s requirement that casinos be attached to water had bit them in the butt. Katrina had deposited a casino barge on his aunt’s house.  You always could depend on the brilliance of the folks who make the rules in Jackson.

Taming the mighty Mississippi’s brute strength had been the lifelong mission of several men. And just when Man got cocky, Old Man River rose to remind him just who was boss. It had in 1927, 1937 and again in 1973.  The flood of 2008 was also rough. And it was threatening now in May 2011.  Man was getting schooled once again.

He looked over the Delta. Crops and trees as far as he could see. This flat, fertile land used to be a primeval swamp when his ancestors first arrived.  The reign of the forest was ended by King Cotten and man’s axe.  The swamps were drained. Canals were dug. Levees were built.  Faith was taken from God and put into piles of dirt.

Faith in things man-made are like Fool’s Gold.  The 1927 flood proved that.  His grandmother told about her housetop rescue from the family home in Indianola.  He’d spend hours on her knee, listening to the tales of the time that changed the face of Mississippi forever.  Herbert Hoover rose to power.  African Americans migrated north to Chicago.  The population loss in the Delta continued to this day.  The dog-eared copy of “Lanterns on the Levee” that his grandmother had passed down to him sat on his truck seat.

If Tornadoes sound like a freight train, a flood sounds more like a cat walking across carpet.  It sneaks up on you, lapping at your home, your life. It was a silent killer. But a killer none the less.  The river was well up the side of the levee now.  He took a couple more photos just for history’s sake. “When the Levee Breaks” by Led Zeppelin (and based on Kansas Joe McCoy and Memphis Minnie’s classic about the 1927 flood) boomed from his truck stereo and was the only noise heard for miles.

The man walked back down to his truck, turned the key and headed South for the long drive to his trailer in Rolling Fork. He had to secure his LP tank, turn off his electricity and move his beagle to higher ground before the crest made its way down to the river.  He rubbed his beard and prayed the backwater levee held.  He prayed man’s desire to control nature would win this round.

“Fool’s gold,” he thought. “Fool’s gold.”