Oregonal Sin

It had been four weeks since the flood. Four weeks of sweat, dirt, tears, aching muscles and aching hearts. There was still work to be done, and everyone was worried about supplies and rations, but the town was slowly getting back on its feet.

This afternoon there was a bit more reason to smile. The last of the major buildings ruined by the flood -- the warehouse -- was being raised again. The whole community had been invited to help out and a few soldiers with local roots had shown up to give a hand. The older folk who'd done this sort of thing before got tasked with being crew chiefs while anyone who could swing a hammer or hoist a beam was asked to. The women and girls saw to providing what water and food they could and younger boys were used to fetch parts and tools.

After all was said and done, everyone was given a chance to go home and clean up before coming back to celebrate under the new roof. Food was sparse but music was plentiful and the warehouse floor made a fine place to dance. The weather had cooperated as well and small groups clustered here and there outside to talk under clear, starry skies.