AROUND SOMERSET
Elm Creek, just a couple of miles north to northwest of Somerset, this often dry creek, has in the last century, given residents living near it’s banks floods that have wiped buildings, topsoil, crops, livestock, fences, bridges, and the lives of several people.
Our other river-neighbor, the Medina, flooded in 1919 from a hurricane that unexpectedly came through Port Aransas (wiping it out), Rockport, and Corpus Christi. This Medina River flood wiped out our area’s Santissima Trinidad Catholic Church (established in the mid 1800s) and cemetery.
A “DAD STORY” ABOUT HIS FIRST FLOOD
Another regional river, the Frio River, flooded end of May-June 1935, nearly took this author’s Dad (Jesse Columbus James, aged 12 years old at the time) with is as it washed through their camp, where they were working cattle on the Witherspoon Ranch. His dad (Jesse Garfield James), the ranch foreman and Dad, set up a couple of tents, one for each of them, and a fire to cook over. Jesse G. drove the only truck into town, with Jesse C.’s bedroll in it. Young Jesse, now alone, set about collecting firewood build a fire for supper. Later in the afternoon, Dad told me, he started fixing supper in the dutch oven thinking he’d have it ready when his dad got back. If this threatening rain started, he figured his dad would probably be wet and hungry.
My Dad told me he was finishing the stew in the first dutch oven and beginning biscuits in the 2nd dutch oven when it started to rain…really rain. He began gathering up as much firewood as he could, placing it in his dad’s tent to keep it dry. He lit a couple of the lanterns so he could finish cooking and his dad could have light to guide him back to camp. The heavy rain did not slow down.
At dark, his dad had not returned and neither had any of the ranch hands. Even though his dad had pitched the tents on the highest ground around, just in case….and Dad said he supposed this was “one of those cases,” the rising Frio River was beginning to move toward the camp. Not knowing what else to do, Dad said he got up on his cot, eventually falling asleep.
Sometime in the night Dad said he wok up with water coming into his tent. He got up, lit a lantern to look outside only to see that the camp in a tiny island in the middle of the Frio River. He went to his dad’s tent and placed all the gear and food on the cots. During the rest of the night as Dad sat on his cot, he said the flood waters rose half-way up the legs of his cot. He said, “Now is was really scared and had no place to go.”
The next morning, the water in his tent was up to his ankles and out side his tent the big sack of flour was under water and the big sacks of onions and potatoes had opened up and most had floated away. Dad’s tent was gone.
By the afternoon of the second day, he said he was really getting hungry as he had finished all the stew and biscuits the day before. The flood waters were slowing down and the camp was a little island again. I didn’t know what I was going to eat, until I saw a ‘possum (that’s Opossom for those of you not familiar with this gray, furry marsupial) for swimming toward my island. I grabbed the ‘possum by the tail killed it, then cleaned it with my knife and floodwater. I made a fire using some of the wood that had been on my cot and kerosene from the lantern. He said that was the only ‘possum he had (or has since) ever killed. He also said that he had a spot spot in is heart for ‘possoms ever since.
Well, how and when did he get out of there? Dad said he spent another night, with the ‘possom, on his cot looking out of the tent flap. Later in the day, he saw a man coming toward him rowing a boat. When he landed, the man called to Dad, saying he was Mr. Williams and Jesse G. sent him. He would have come but there wasn’t enough room for three people and gear.
My Dad told Mr. Williams that his dad said he’d be back, so dad figured he’s better wait until his own dad came back.
So, Dad, Jesse C., spent another three days, nibbling on his ‘possom and a couple of rattlesnakes before Jesse G. could get back to camp. When he did they broke camp, got everything loaded, and headed home. Dad said he was camp cook on a couple of other trips to Mr. Witherspoon’s ranch for dippin’ cattle and such, but nothing could compare to that May-June 1935 Frio River Flood.
MORE RECENT DELUGES
Texas floods of record and our memory (remembering Stevie Ray Vaughn’s version, too) keep us painfully aware of nature’s power and our determination to live through them and rebuild our lives.
The recent, and not soon to be forgotten Texas Hurricanes of Harvey, Irma, and Maria, however, are in another dimension as they have destroyed hundreds of lives and untold billions of dollars of property and infrastructure. In the midst of all of the flooding and storm terror across Texas and Louisiana, Florida, Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands, there are ample signs of just how we humans are a stubborn, resilient bunch.
Yes, yes, I do know that there were instances of theft and opportunism, but far more folk worked before, during, and after those storms/hurricanes to help others survive. They helped by beginning the clean up of roadways, restoring power, searching and saving those who needed that help (like Texas Parks and Wildlife Game wardens and the Cajun Navy ); then providing shelter and sustenance to the multitudes who were now without homes. This work of recovery goes on often years after the events.
GOD’S MESSAGE OF DELIVERANCE CONTINUES…AMEN
In the midst of this continuing story of nature’s fury and human-kind’s resilience, one of my friends sent this reminder (below) that we in Texas are still a pretty special group. As we recover from any recent floods, may we be ever mindful our most recent storm (Harvey) is not the last we’ll experience. But, perhaps the following message can soften some of the blows nature regularly sends us here in Texas. Enjoy.
