Pete Gura’s last patience ran out the day half the corn bogged down in floodwater the fifth year in a row.
It’d been still okay late that afternoon when he came past, driving the bulldozer home through drizzle after helping with dikes around the elementary school. Then Shary happened to glance out the rickety attic coppola window as she checked for roof leaks.
“Pete, you better get up here,” she called.