All That Water
by John Mooy
I continue to be amazed at what thoughts surface in my mind for no apparent reason. Perhaps these thoughts were most recently initiated by my receipt of first images via email followed by the photos they were taken from. The pictures were of the folks who comprised a good portion of the gang at the post office: Frank Townsend, Lois Higgins, my Dad, and several other folks I didn’t recognize. My thanks to Bill Higgins for providing these bits of Marcellus history.
Former Marcellus Postmaster Frank Townsend (left) and Rural Mail Nat Mooy, the author’s father.
As I sit here at my computer, we are enjoying a spring rain. I love these times as the wonderful smell of the earth becomes so evident. The low spots around town fill up with water creating mud puddles in the same places these small “reservoirs” have appeared for years. It was with enjoyment that there were open front porches on the houses on Elm Street that allowed us as youngsters to enjoy activities on those porches without getting wet.
Just down the street at the Datema /Bowers house, I recall sitting on the porch in the rain and there was always a puddle just off the front of the porch that was created when the downspout couldn’t accommodate a heavy rain. At the Welburn home, I recall being on their porch watching the long puddles being created at the edge of the street. If you were on the Kahler front porch you could watch vehicles pass by on the highway with windshield wipers going and a spray of water trailing the vehicle.
And during those days the baseball field, then located at the end of the street, would be covered with water. All games delayed by rain.
Seldom did the rain put a damper on the day unless we were going to bale hay, or perhaps play ball. Then the activities could move indoors until the clouds left and the sun made its appearance. So where did we go? Larry Kahler, a lifelong friend, asked me the other day if I recalled playing basketball in a garage located behind the Datema/Bowers home. I hadn’t thought about that garage (now gone) and the basketball setup we had created. The basket was attached to the south end of the garage at a height well under the regulation ten-foot height of the basket. The rim was smaller as well as was the ball. The games raged on for hours at a time down there. Rain was one thing ,but I also recall playing ball there in the winter when your fingers were frozen, and the ball was somewhat deflated.
But back to the rain. How much fun it was to ride your bike around town and when you spotted a big puddle to pull your feet up off the pedals and glide through the water. If you had a bike you’d modified and taken off the fenders, you were left with a nice strip of water across the back of your shirt as the water came off the tires all the way around the tire.
But there was one very large puddle on Rural Route # 2 that I will never forget. It was on Cranberry Lake Road where there was a pond on each side of the road. During the springtime rains, the ponds would overflow, and the water literally covered the road. It was during one of those times when the road was covered with water that I happened to be on the mail route with my Dad. I’m guessing I was perhaps nine or ten years old. On that day Dad reached into his collection of stories and pulled one out I’ll never forget. When I asked him, as we were slowly moving though the water, how deep it was he gave me his answer in a story:
“Well,” he said, “The story goes that this patch of road is a sink hole, so they really don’t know how deep it is.” Dad had my full attention. And to think we were driving across this piece of roadway. His story continued, “Supposedly, a man years before, pulling a combine had come along this very road during the spring rains.”
“What happened to him Dad?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “The tractor, the combine, and the man disappeared.”
Though this story for me is a tall tale, I think of that story every time I drive down that place in the road. And just to be safe I always speed up a bit.
Have a great week Marcellus,
you’re the best.
Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.
Do not be angry with the rain; it simply does not know how to fall upwards.
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