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303 pages, Hardcover
First published October 1, 2013
come to my blog!Dixie Clay woke past noon, and even waking she noted that the world sounded different from when she’d retired at dawn. As she swung her feet off the bed and into rubber boots, she looked out her window. The rain lashing Hobnob had slowed, now just fat drops plopping from greasy-looking leaves. By the time she was drinking instant coffee in her kitchen, the sun was coming out. This had happened a few times since the big rains had started in November, but Dixie Clay no longer ran to the door. She didn’t look for a rainbow. No, she no longer hoped, merely waited for the rain, and when it came falling harder than ever, as if it’d stored up its strength in the interval, she took a bitter comfort in being right.When we think of great natural disasters in US history some chestnuts of misery pop readily to mind. The worst in terms of official body count (8,000) is the savaging of Galveston in 1900 by a hurricane (Isaac’s Storm). Many might offer Katrina, with almost 2,000 dead and damage over $100 Billion. How about the Dust Bowl of the 1930s (The Worst Hard Time). The San Francisco Earthquake of 1906, which killed 3,000. Maybe the Johnstown Flood of 1889. But were you aware of the great flood of 1927? Me neither. On not-so-Good Friday, in 1927, a hundred-foot wall of water burst through a levee (there were several breaches along the river) and laid waste to 27,000 square miles of land, applying the force of a couple of Niagaras to land near, and not so near the river, in effect, an inland tsunami.

"It is time to tell you a story, a story that will surprise you. The year was 1927, and Lord, the rains did rain. Your mama was a bootlegger, and your daddy was a revenuer, so they were meant to be enemies, natural enemies, like the owl and the dormouse. But instead they fell in love.All Dixie Clay Holliver had to guide her into married life at the age of 16, was the two books her dad gave her to take along: Husband and Wife, The Physical Life of Woman and Getting Ready To Be A Mother. She also did not ask questions when she landed up a few miles outside Hobnob on a small farm holding with a hidden still. Isolated and secure. No federal revenuers and agents could possibly become interested in it.
This story is a story with murder and moonshine, sandbagging and saboteurs, dynamite and deluge. A ruthless husband, a troubled uncle, a dangerous flapper, a loyal partner. A woman, married to the wrong husband, who died a little every day. A man who felt invisible. But most of all, this is a love story. This is the story of how we became a family."
More from the Epilogue
"So later, when she is ready, she will be able to say, Son, it was the greatest natural disaster our country had ever known. How big, Willy, was the area that was drowned? About the size of Connecticut, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and Vermont. Of course, if it had been those states, we’d have had help right quick. Supplies. Money. Later, chapters in the history books. Monuments everywhere. But it was Delta dirt, the richest dirt in the nation, though under the boot soles of the poorest folk. The official death toll would be reported as 313, though we all knew the real number was much higher, Willy, much higher. Coolidge never came to the suffering people. In the months that followed, four governors and eight senators would beg him to come, to turn the eyes of the nation on the South. But Coolidge did not come. And was not reelected. Hoover, darling of the newsreels, star of the Sunday supplements, did surf the flood to the presidency, as he’d predicted. This flood, now forgotten by much of our nation, changed what our nation became."
