Things I Learned …

Things I learned from the 5 June 1976 flood, plus some random thoughts (that’s about the only kind of thoughts I have anymore):

I can live without a paring knife, a blende, sewing machines, yarn, patterns, chairs with all four legs, crochet hooks, freezers, televisions, vacuum cleaners, electric frying pans, ovens that heat, digital clocks, and make-up.

A strong clothesline strung across a corner fence gets clothes as dry as a machine does, and hand-washed clothes come in smelling clean and fresh.

Privacy is precious and having your own bathroom after two weeks of sharing is a luxury.

Dinette chairs come unglued just like you do when hit by a flood.

Much belongs outside.

Some people’s sense of humor floats away.

I miss my books.

Everybody’s treasures look the same when covered with mud.

Families are important.

The goodness of people.

The goodness of Church welfare.

The goodness of the Red Cross.

How long it takes to get a letter when you’ve lost your post office.

Taxes go on being collected.

Light bills and telephone bills come due even when you don’t have lights or telephones.

People get married and babies are born in spite of disasters.

Rusty typewriters don’t work too well.

Storage wheat won’t keep after it has sprouted.

Even full freezers can float away.

How fortunate we were to have Ricks College and its empty dorms.

The thrill of finding a $10 bill in the pocket of a jacket that was short enough not to get wet.

A low-heeled white oxford left shoe and a high-heeled blue right shoe do not make a pair.

Black and white pictures survive floods better than colored ones.

How much I miss my yard, garden, and patio, our good neighbors, my toenail clippers, our clean chapel, the fun of watching things grow, a needle and thread, something constructive to wake up to each morning, the security of our home, our fireplace, a washer and dryer, and our good, cold water.

How much easier we have it than our pioneer sisters—we can choose between standing in line at the one operating laundromat or washing things out by hand. And we have soap from the bishop’s storehouse and warm water.

Things aren’t as important as people and are more easily destroyed.

Things can be bad for a month—and then they’ll get worse.

You can live without a telephone and get by with only one car.

Cattle can die from mud in their lungs days after the flood.

That Heavenly Father sends help—in many ways and in many forms.