Or perhaps not.
This morning, there was a message to me, a note left on the dining room table by a state patrolman while I was still sleeping, that the river was expected to "crest" today, and for me to keep my eye on it.
The river is circa a football-field length away from the house.
When someone says a "river crests," those are just words to me; I have no idea what it means, never having seen such a phenomenon in my life.
I walked down to the river, which was high, churning and roiling, and headed southward at a strong pace.
I came back to the house and took an inventory of all the cats.
The cats all being accounted for, I went to town to find out what to expect.
The ancient elderly gentleman who mows the lawn here explained it to me; the river is running the highest since 1948, and generally this is only a twice-in-one's-life time phenomenon. He had wanted to come out to see the river, but is still somewhat incapacitated, due to a minor stroke a couple of months ago.
He told me what to watch for, and not to worry about it.
During the covered-wagon log-cabin sod-house pioneering days circa 1870-1910 in Nebraska, settlers did not simply look at a piece of ground, and settle down.
Nearly all of them looked for a place close to a supply of water, and settled down.
The Swiss ancestors of the elderly gentleman, however possessed foresight in two other respects; not only did they select a piece of ground close to a supply of water, but also they selected a piece of ground that promised good drainage (which is why, even under the wettest of conditions, mud is but a minor nuisance here), and a piece of ground immune from most natural disasters.
The river here is narrower than it is up north and down south, narrower and deeper, and with some sort of geological base that is stronger, firmer, than most ground.
Rivers follow the course of the least resistance, and there is much resistance at this point. So then what happens is the river overflows further north (because the banks are softer), and then shoots through this narrow-but-near-unerodable channel here, and then overflows again further south. The southern end of this county might as well be enormous rice-paddies in China.
The only caveat the ancient elderly gentleman had was to keep an eye on the cats, and any other livestock that might find its way here; if a cat ends up riding a log through this channel, it would take a super-speedy motorboat to catch up with it, the water flows so fast.
But as for the rest of the property, it is about as safe here as if on top of the Matterhorn in Switzerland.
There were buckets, waterfalls, of rain this morning, but by afternoon, the sun was shining. However, this is expected to be but a brief respite, more buckets and Niagaras of rain expected for Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday.
I myself don't mind this rain; it keeps away the cancer-causing sun of the Sandhills.
However, the world was not created to suit franksolich; other people mind this very much.
I checked the climatic history of Nebraska.
Since early April, every single day but two, Nebraska (every region in the whole state, not just part of the state) has had "measurable" precipitation--of course many days with 4 or 6 inches of rain--a phenomenon that last existed in spring 1896.
I checked further; based upon geological and archaeological evidence, and native American folklore, such a phenomenon had also occurred in 1783, the year of the signing of the Treaty of Paris, giving the United States our independence. The phenomenon had also apparently occurred in 1670, about ten years after the restoration of decency and civility in England. And in 1558, the year of the accession of Elizabeth I. And in 1452, the year Michaelangelo was born. And in 1348, when the Black Death was plaguing and decimating Europe.
It appears to be a 110-year cycle, roughly, that goes back to the beginning of time, all this water.
The nocturnally foul one can shove that up his ass and smoke it.
