The Start of a Soggy Saga (revised for publication in PN)

The last few years of my career as a language teacher I was also a school bus driver. What fun it was sharing the following travel tale with friends and family far removed from Ripley County.

Flash flood watches do not keep the fleet of school bus drivers from their appointed rounds…neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor dread of night, etc. The drivers take pride in emulating the postal service, much to the disappointment of the kiddies served.

Local school buses are equipped with the most advanced of communication systems, the trusted two-way radio. This helps drivers keep track of students who change residences frequently and alert colleagues to road hazards as they appear.

Just as they affect our local cable and phone services, variable weather conditions can alter considerably the dependability of the radio. One particularly soggy day mine was quiet. Thinking the dreadful weather had all the drivers so occupied that no one had time to chat, I splashed along delivering my riders to their drenched addresses.

About half my cargo had waded through the waves to their front doors when I approached that part of my route blessed with the famous Ozarkian low-water bridge. As I topped the hill, a panoramic view of a gravel road beach from which no sane, sea-faring kayaker would launch stretched before me.

The one who lived between the hilltop and the submerged bridge asked to depart the bus and run to down to his house while I idled, pondering my predicament. To get some expert advice I attempted to contact my boss via the radio, but there was no response. An adviser, my instructor in all things bus-related, had suggested once that I was not fully aware of the power of the 6-wheeler I steered, that it could sail right through gurgling creek waters and come out with all six wheels still attached, with nothing to fear except perhaps damp brakes.

But…that was based on the assumption that one sailed through crystal clear gurgling creek waters rather than plunging into rolling, rumbling waters muddied with red clay runoff camouflaging the bridge and the road on either end of it. Besides, all resemblance to a creek had vanished. What lay before me were the dark churning waters of an angry river trying to find its banks. Who could tell if the bridge still existed in one drive-overable slab?

(To be continued)

About Teresa Pearson Lee

Retired after 33 years of teaching English and French (one year in private school in Memphis, TN and the rest in public school in Doniphan, MO. Enjoying new adventures - all those things I put off for lack of time, energy, now I can try them! Pottery, writing, traveling, camping, kayaking, dancing, listening to some of the best live music ever, and making lively new friendships. All christened with an appreciation for great red wine! Created and operated KC's on the Current, then sold it and managed it for new owners. You might still find me at the reservation desk when spring rolls around. Born and raised in St. Louis, MO near The Hill. Though a transplant to Southeast Missouri, still a city gal at the core with a deep love of the natural resources in these Ozark foothills. Currently I am a content coordinator for Poplar Bluff Living Magazine and a columnist/stringer for the local weekly The Prospect News. My rescue Siamese helps with most of the proofreading; he has a great ear. I relish the solitude easily had in the Mark Twain Forest but thoroughly enjoy lively outings for music, wine, conversation close to home or in my beloved hometown. Technology is my greatest challenge but so worth the shared connections. There may be a need for solitude but there is little loneliness. The material in this blog written by Teresa Lee is her property and cannot be used without express written consent to do so.
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