The old hen, its white feathers darkened by soil-laden water, looked befuddled but not a bit bemused as it clung to remnants of a shed while the swift current of the Neosho River took it on a downstream ride to who knows where.
The chicken was one of the intriguing sights I absorbed on daily journeys with my granddad, Sherman Oliphant, to West Bridge Street in Humboldt to see the flooding Neosho in summer 1951. Not quite 8, watching the rampaging Neosho made for high adventure.
In today’s Register, Richard Luken reminds readers of what occurred 10 years ago with the second-largest local flood in recorded history.
The 1951 crest was better than 6 feet higher than 2007’s, 33.26 feet compared to 26.90. In 1948, the Neosho crested here at 24.65 feet, at 23.50 feet in 1926.
Enough statistics; let’s look at some perspectives that better tell the tale of ’51.
Gardens grew well that spring, with plentiful rain, so much so that several times when I was dispatched to pick cucumbers for dill pickles I wore knee-high boots. The garden often had water standing, and on those rare days when the sun broke through it was like a steam bath.
Crops along the river either were sliced off at ground level by the swift current, or uprooted. In either case, great piles of vegetation were found in nearby woods when the water receded — and, with other saturated vegetation, raised a stench no one ever will forget.
When it was announced Humboldt’s water plant would go under and be out of operation for several days, we filled our bathtub and every bucket for drinking water.
With flood-imposed power interruptions, Ace Sterling at City Market gave away ice cream rather than have it melt. The word got around quickly, and kids streamed downtown to devour all Ace had.
The aforementioned chicken wasn’t the only creature carried downriver.
We often saw livestock, mostly dead and bloated, along with dogs and an occasional cat that got trapped and opted for a ride on debris rather than swim for it.
I don’t remember whether it signified a death or severe illness, but local pilots flying over the floodwaters were alerted by a huge cross made with bedsheets on a rural house surrounded by deep water.
Wife Beverly and her family had it much worse than we did in town.
They lived on an oil lease west of Humboldt, where her father, Lacy Mintz, worked. Water rose several feet in their house and soaked a new couch, one of the few pieces of new furniture her mother, Ione, ever had. Raising six kids didn’t leave much money for frills, such as new furniture.
Beverly is keen on family history, and her greatest loss were the many photos destroyed by the flood.
Being near wells, the interior of their house had oil on the walls that marked the water’s height; cleaning up was a daunting task, with Beverly the only child old enough to help her mother.
NOTHING good comes from a flood of historic proportions, except perhaps the outpouring of neighborly and volunteer help, which occurred abundantly with both the 1951 and 2007 floods.
At Week’s End: High water memories from the floods of 1951, 2007
