April showers, they say. It had not stopped raining since December. It might slack off some, drop to a drizzle, but then it would start back up stronger than ever. The ground was all thick mud where it wasn’t standing water, the trees bending with the weight of their swollen branches. I figured Pa was all right over in Vicksburg, though how he’d ever cross back over a mile-wide river I didn’t know. Probably get a boat somewhere.
I stood inside the barn, patching up the old skiff. Better safe than sorry. I could see the river through the trees.
On April 22, 1927, the Great Flood overran Greenville, Mississippi. Downtown Greenville was covered in ten feet of water. For 60 miles to the east and 90 miles to the south of the Mounds Landing break, the Delta became a turbulent, churning inland sea, leaving tens of thousands of people stranded on rooftops and clinging to trees. It was the worst natural disaster in American history.