Take the time to read this–it is well worth it and may bring back some memories or create some new ones for you……….
I grew up near the banks of the Blanchard River. Our house was at the top of a hill, our farm was gently rolling, and looking out our kitchen window to the east was a field that we called “the riverbottom”. It was a wet field, frequently flooded. It was definitely not our best producing field because often the crops would get washed out early in the season when the spring rains came fast and hard. In the summer a heavy thunderstorm would cause flooding of crops trying to grow and mature, and in the fall, when harvest was near, any rains would make it difficult to move the harvesting equipment into that area. No amount of tile could change Mother’s Nature’s drainage plan so my Dad learned not to expect much out of that particular part of the field.
The southern border of that field was marked by…
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