"No getting through there," I said.

"Must be flooded at the Five Corners," said Uncle Chet, slowing to a crawl.

"All I know is I’ve got to get to Norwich and take some pictures," I said.

"There’s no ’got to’ today," he said. "This is ’an act of God,’ as the insurers say, and all bets are off."

The sun was out, but the streams were gushing and the Unadilla River was swelling with brown water, spreading over the valley like cold lava.

"Let’s take Route 80; go to Sherburne, then down 12," I suggested.

Uncle Chet pulled his maroon Ranger up a muddy driveway, backed out again and we set off on another tack.

"Wonder if it’ll rain any more today?" I said as I eyed some dark blue cumulus clouds to the west.

"Can’t predict the weather anymore; it’s getting too crazy," he said. "I talked to a farmer who said we got 8 inches of rain between yesterday morning and this morning."

"Looks it," I said, eyeing a ranch house ringed by a pond.

"According to the government, 5 inches of rain in 24 hours is the storm of the century," he said, turning onto Route 24. "And here we got eight."

"So, what’s that? The storm of the millennium?"

"Who knows?" he said. "They’re going to have to rewrite all their theories, all their definitions, in light of global warming. Ten years from now, Katrina will be a typical hurricane, this’ll be a June shower and to see a glacier, you’ll have to watch a video."

"Makes you think twice about living near a river, or the ocean," I said, as we climbed the hill outside Columbus, then descended to the hamlet. Cobblestones and branches had washed across the road, but it was passable. Farther down Route 80, a crew was busy clearing the pavement.

"Looks like we’ll make it to Sherburne this way," said Uncle Chet and we wound our way up and out of town. On the higher ground, the water had drained away and there was no sign of disaster. Kids were playing basketball in a driveway while a young woman tended her garden next door. Horses were out in one field and cows in several others, munching on soggy grass.

When we descended to the village of Sherburne, Route 12 north was closed. We headed south, toward Norwich. The road was flooded in a few places, but nothing serious until North Norwich. Here, backwash from the Chenango River crossed the road and cars were stopped, their drivers unwilling to take a chance on stalling.

Uncle Chet stopped, too, but after we saw another, larger pickup truck idle through the canal, he crept forward cautiously.

"Any life preservers on this scow?" I asked, looking out the open window at our slow progress. The water was over the hubcaps, but we rolled on without mishap.

When we could see the road again, he let out a sigh and said, "I hope we can get back through there later."

"If not, I know another way home," I said, and we rode into the city. Here, firefighters were pumping out basements and directing traffic near the danger spots. I snapped some pictures.

"Who says the volunteer system is dead; look at those guys," Uncle Chet said. "All night long, they were rescuing people, putting their lives on the line. Now, they’ve got to be dog-tired, dying to tend to their own problems, but they’re up to their navels in someone else’s cellar water."

"They are amazing," I agreed.

"And they do it for nothing but the satisfaction of helping others," he said as we idled through the city, trying to get to Route 23 east. "It makes you wonder what’s wrong with the rest of us."

"Everyone’s too busy," I said, and it sounded lame as soon as I heard it.

"Too busy doing what?" said Uncle Chet.

"Working overtime, I guess."

"To make more money to buy more junk and then take it to the dump?" he said. "No, we have no excuse. Everyone who can, ought to volunteer, and every boss ought to let ’em."

"Sounds like a campaign theme," I said.

"It might be," Uncle Chet said. "From now on, I’m going to try to vote for firefighters, EMTs, and the politicians who truly support them."

———

Cooperstown News Bureau Reporter Tom Grace is traveling with his Uncle Chet, who he says is imaginary. Grace’s column

appears twice monthly.