Beware of the trembling earth

I don't know if every state has this, but when I was growing up – six or seventh grade – and living in Georgia, we were required to take state history classes. One of the things I learned about was a 438,000-acre stretch of wetlands called the Okefenokee Swamp, situated at the Georgia-Florida border. The name comes from what Seminole tribes called "the land of the trembling earth". This stuck with me because I imagined it as grasslands growing on top of the water, that you could walk on and not fall through, trembling like a waterbed mattress or one of those inflatable bouncy cages you find at carnivals. Turns out it's just a swamp.

I was thinking about the Okefenokee tonight while out walking my dog down at Limestone Landing. It rained really hard the other day and the Ohio River had risen, strangely enough, to the exact height of the concrete dock that extends into the river. I always love it when the river gets this high. It's like walking on water to go out on the dock; the river surrounds you and you feel like you're a part of it. Some debris had gathered in the pockets between the irregular-shaped dock and the shore. It looked like a solid layer of wet earth.

I was standing on the dock admiring the river when I heard a loud "Ploop!"

"What the hell?" I thought, and turned to see the retractable dog-leash I was carrying led straight into the muck, straight into a small patch of water surrounded by debris with hardly a ripple showing any other disturbance.

"Mocha?" I asked stupidly (Mochaccino is my dog).

It had to have been at least a full second before her head bobbed to the surface. She had gone all the way under and when her face appeared she looked as surprised as I did, confused as to how the ground had suddenly opened up and swallowed her. I'm sure being dunked beneath the icy waters came as a bit of a shock as well.

I'm a bad father. I couldn't stop laughing as I fished her out and took her home for a warm bath. Of course now I realize that she could have been swept under the concrete slabs, or gotten tangled in branches beneath the surface of the water, or any of the other things my smarter than I wife told me about when I got home. There is absolutely nothing funny about a frozen dog-cicle, though it sure seemed like there was at the time : )

In any case, when the sun has gone down, and you're out for a walk by a river swollen with rain, take my dog's advice and watch where you step. Beware of the trembling earth.