Lewis and Clark must have worn the same clothes

There are few things more compatible than kids and a flood. I am reminded of this every time a hard and relentless rain turns our property into a lake with a current, which is what happened last weekend. My son, who could awaken the roosters, woke even earlier last Saturday to see if it was indeed paradise outside, as the storm the previous night had led him to believe. He was a little disappointed that it wasn’t one of the really good floods, the kind that laps at the sides of the porch making Mom and Dad nervous. But it would do. The first order of business on a day like that is finding a seaworthy vessel. Big plastic yard toys can easily be adapted for this purpose. The small blue Little Tykes elephant slide and the Cozy Coupe used to be excellent for sailing across the flooded yard. Those are long gone, but there is a lot of other plastic around with amphibious potential. The kids went in search of other toys to charter. We couldn’t find the small vinyl boat with the plastic oars that was perfect for floods. We’ve had many an adventure in that raft. Once the current was so swift out on our country road that the boat floated toward the highway in seconds. I made Lewis and Clark jump out at the last mailbox. We declared our favorite boat lost after searching for awhile. By this time, the kids were cold and wet enough for a shower and change of clothes. When they returned, both boarded the big plastic Step 2 wagon, which immediately sank. But this is a sturdy craft: practically an all-terrain vehicle! And it has made many a thrilling flood voyage. We just needed to lighten the load. My daughter readily jumped in alone, apparently forgetting all previous trips in this “boat” with my son at the helm. When she was much younger, this guy, navigating from the hand pull, would wander into water that appeared really deep to her. This would never fail to elicit those shrieks of terror that can be so rewarding to a big brother. She wasn’t scared now, since she’s gotten older. So much older, the wagon doesn’t float. On to the next thing. Last year’s swimming pool was briefly considered, but brown leaves and a year’s worth of a festering puddle made it unthinkable. Too bad; that thing would have been like the QE-2. We would resume looking right after another shower and change of clothes. Finally, a check of all our belongings ended with the charter of my daughter’s inflatable chair as the day’s exploration vessel. I knew we’d eventually find a use for that thing. The girl actually agreed to be the passenger with my son “steering.” He quickly proved that he can still elicit shrieks of terror from his younger sister. Even though she now knows that the water is not very deep, flipping over backwards into chilly floodwaters is still frightening. He is immediately fired as captain. And court-martialed by me. As soon as he got out of the shower and into fresh clothes, he was rescued by the neighbor boy, who was exploring the floodwaters the old-fashioned way: on bike. Both kids ride off, gleefully kicking up floodwaters with their wheels. As I saw them speed off, I was instantly transported to my youth. My siblings and I would watch with envy from the big picture window of our 50’s tract house, as those naughty but lucky boys went through the flood waters so fast it was like parting the Red Sea. Some of them managed to dig up a skiff somewhere, waving as they paddled by. My mother would stand behind us, shaking her head at those kids, explaining how safe we were from the possible downed power lines and all those snakes. We silently stared from the bored safety of our living room as the kids shimmied in those electric, snake-infested waters, until we could stand it no longer. It wasn’t until I became the family maid that I realized the real reason my mother didn’t let us play in flood waters. Too much laundry. Moms hate that. MARY ANN FITZMORRIS writes this column every Saturday for L’Observateur