https://Voice.club - “Stop splashing me!”
“I’ll tell Mom on you!”
The walk home is anything but quiet. Thomas Ed, Alan, and I are wading home from school through an ever-growing river. The sun breaks through the clouds flinging patches of light and warmth on the melting snow lining the riverbank.
When land was cleared for building our house, Lloyd Blondon used his Cub tractor and created a driveway. The site of our house was one-half mile from our closest neighbor and access was needed; the best potential for a driveway could be an old dry riverbed. Lloyd simply dammed the river at an appropriate location, diverting the water to leave us with a ready-made roadbed.
One problem. Now when warm spring days come, melting snow causes the river to revert to its original location and our driveway becomes a riverbed again. The waters roll and sparkle over rocks and moss and surround the feet of lady ferns, watermelon berries, and devil clubs along the way. The water comes to rest within 50 feet of our front steps; the house is safe. The problem? This route is the only connection between our homestead and the neighboring town.
When Dad and Julie come home that afternoon, Dad leaves the car at the new riverbank, and they make their way home through the rising water to greet us with his surprise decision.
“It will be best if you three kiddos stay at the homestead with Mom until the water goes down.”
Julie interrupts. “Dad said I could go into town with him, and we’ll stay with friends.”
The next day sees Dad and Julie holding books and bags high above head as they struggle through the river to reach dry land.
The water has not receded by Sunday; Lloyd comes to the rescue! In our best clothes, Mom, my brothers, and I climb aboard his Amphicat and slowly make our way upriver and onto Route 9 toward Seward, Julie and Dad, and church. The sun is shining, the snow melting; we soon will have our road back.
Churchgoing in an Amphicat. Not unusual for a frontier town in 1961.