Hey Noah — we may need another Ark

For the past several years, an area of about 100 miles in North Texas has been in the grip of a drought so severe people kept looking for the mother ship that was surely blocking out our rain. Crops failed. Ponds dried up. Lakes receded, and cattle grazed in areas once covered with deep water.

But now, as the saying goes, “the tide has turned.” In the past three months, the near constant torrential rains accompanied by flash floods have become the norm not only in Texas and Oklahoma, but also in Kansas and beyond. Meanwhile, several Western states are burning.

Pipelines deliver oil to refineries all over the country. Why can’t we build similar, but reversible, pipelines to siphon off excess moisture from rainy parts of the country and deliver it to the drought plagued places? If ever there was an opportunity for man to meddle with nature in a positive way, this could be it.

Our spendthrift politicians could actually earmark funds for something useful instead of multi-lane highways that end in a mountainside (Hawaii) or a bridge to a politician’s personal property (Sen. Harry Reid) or minority business assistance at a non-existent airport (Congressman Jesse Jackson Jr.).

Meanwhile, people in super soggy regions catch themselves uttering clichés — “When it rains, it pours” or “It is raining cats and dogs” or “Rain, rain, go away.” Embarrassed, they cover their mouths as an I-can’t-believe-I-said-that expression flashes in their eyes.

My mother had a poetic soul and used weather-related adages for our behavioral modification. Rain meant “the angels are crying” (behave yourselves); thunder meant “the angels are bowling” (do not tick them off). I never dared ask, but if angels get mad at us, will they drop bowling balls on our heads?

According to old wisdom (which means no one will own up to starting it), reclining cows in the pasture are a sign of coming rain. However, cows in our flooded fields are climbing trees to keep their udders and other body parts dry.

In north Texas, the rain and flooding revealed some disconcerting inhabitants — alligators. It seems alligators consider the uninhabited ponds and tributaries in our neck of the woods their natural habitat. So, who invited them in the first place?

Texas Parks and Wildlife officials explained that heavy rain and floodwater flushed the alligators into area lakes, but they are harmless. No need to worry because they are fairly docile and will generally run from people.

Sure they will, unless they are hungry (which is always.)

The officials did recommend observing a few precautions: Never feed alligators (Darn. My life long dream has been to feed stray alligators.); keep an eye on children and pets while alligators lurk in your yard; and do not approach alligators. Leave them alone, and they will go away. One can only hope.

Meanwhile, confused seagulls diving for food in flooded fields sport bent beaks for their unsuccessful efforts. Driveways and yards have morphed into moats (probably filled with some of those harmless alligators). Weeds, which under normal circumstances are knee-high, have reached menacing heights and look like enormous green aliens that appear to move toward passers by.

Folks are kept busy clipping the webbing that is sprouting between their toes. Soon we may be speaking the language of at least one type of fowl. Quack, quack.

And when you thought it could not get much worse, sinkholes are popping up (or is it caving in?) In case you are wondering, sinkholes are grownup potholes.

Do you suppose sinkholes could be shortcuts to Hell?

Elizabeth Cowan, former Norman resident, writes for The Blue Ridge Tribune. Email Elizabeth@elizabethcowan.com.