Why shucks, Amos, I jist relate things that happened in my boyhood. Like the time the fog settled in. A real pea-souper, so thick we had to cut our way around using handsaws and sometimes a hammer and chisel. Even that was better'n down by the river, where they has to blast. We saved the fog chunks we cut out and put them in the root cellar; grandma just added a bit of ham hock later and we had some of the best pea soup you ever et. Thick! Why, the steamboat "Belle Of Meyer" made a wrong turn and road prit near to Camp Point afore'n the fog lifted and left her stranded in Butch Lykes' soybean field. Ol' Butch used 'er for storin' corn on the Texas deck and used the main deck for raisin' hogs. She finally sank in the Great Madrid Earthquake of 1969 -- earth opened up below 'er and swallered 'er whole except for the pilot house. Butch had just gotten all the farrows and gilts out and the corn out too, so he wasn't out much. He turned the pilot house into the gaudiest outhouse you can imagine.

Last time I was out around Camp Point it was still there, too.