It was the summer of 1993, and most of us in Minnesota might remember this as the summer of the "great flood." For me, the events of this summer also permanently changed the images that come to my mind whenever I hear a reference to the "Mississippi Muddy."
The Mississippi River was above flood stage for 144 days. People who lived near the river or any of its tributaries found their backyards under as much as five feet of water. My brother and I (both fans of the movie Deliverance) decided to take a canoe trip down Rice Creek, in the northern suburbs of Minneapolis.
It was early in the morning, and our surreal journey took us from the main creek, through residential neighborhoods, through a picnic area, through parking lots, etc. The whole time in a canoe!
By mid-morning, my brother mentioned that he was feeling the telltale contractions that signal oncoming labor. We were nowhere near a proper birthing facility -- but it occurred to us that there was plenty of running water all around us, so we could improvise. The biggest challenge of taking care of the impending bundle of joy of was figuring out what to wipe with.
My brother looked around in our canoe and on his person, and, after much deliberation, offered with a sigh, "Well, I guess my socks are expendable!"
We found a remote area. He climbed out of the canoe and dropped trou, with his mud-chute strategically pointed downstream. It occurs to me now that he was careful to position his backside just barely under the surface of the water so I'd have an opportunity to witness the blessed event in all it's gory glory.
What I saw next haunts me to this day. Imagine, if you will, a twenty-inch brown mudsnake rapidly but silently exiting a man's colon, and swimming downstream and out of sight within two seconds. It was like that scene in the movie Alien where the creature rips its way out of the man's stomach and scurries off before they can get a good look at it. This creature was soon heading down to reveal itself to whatever fortunate souls were on their own idyllic canoe trips around the next cutback.
I've heard that in some new-age circles, mothers choose to have babies under water. I had never understood this before. Now I realize that it increases the chances that a child will come into the world comfortably and "in one piece."
Well, after we had a chuckle over that one, we were ready to continue our own trip downstream. Needless to say, we waited for several minutes before we felt it was safe to venture out into the snake-infested waters ahead.
We thought about some poor housewife or a small child, hip-deep in their own backyard, amusing themselves in the water -- and being terrified at the sight of the colon cobra that we had unleashed as it slithered its way past them.
And we were reminded of that famous line from the movie: "You don't beat the river...the river beats you."
-- Mike Olenreeks