Orange River

We’ll never forget the day the river turned orange.

We called it Pig’s Foot River. Can’t really say why, to be honest. The name had been in place for centuries by the time any of us were born. Ole’ grand Pig’s Foot, with its mighty waves and currents. A fierce beauty, such a steady, integral part to our little burg.

Little Charley Plimton was the first to notice the change. A boy of eleven, notorious for skipping class to go fishing. It was a Tuesday morning, and sure enough, Charley should have been in school but was not. Miss Atkins had stepped out to look for the boy. The young teacher didn’t get far before Charley found her.

“The river!” he exclaimed, with a healthy mix of fright, excitement, and curiosity. “It’s orange!”

“Nonsense,” replied the schoolteacher. She had little time for shenanigans like this. There was still plenty of learning to get to that day. 

“No, I’m serious - it’s orange!” the boy maintained. 

Miss Atkins considered this. “Why don’t you join the class, Charley. I’ll talk to Mr. Daniels to see if he can go down to the river and take a look.”

Mr. Daniels taught gym, but also served as a janitor, groundskeeper, and primary disciplinarian at the school. The old man was surely wandering the grounds somewhere at that moment. Miss Atkins knew he’d grumble about this assignment, but this would calm the boy down - and hopefully get him to stay in his seat the remainder of the day.

After a few minutes, the young teacher tracked down the old janitor. As predicted, the man wasn’t the least bit happy about having to make his way down the hill - or rather, back up the hill on the way back. But when Miss Atkins asked for a favor, with her innocent smile and hopeful eyes, people in town listened. So Mr. Daniels made his way down the hill.

He saw the sparkle off the water as he grew close. Like a sunset blanketing the water, an odd occurrence at this time of the day. Surely his eyes were tricking him? No… no. He would have bet his paycheck earlier on the boy telling a tall tale. Orange water? Please.

But to the man’s surprise, the water glistened in the sunlight, a bright orange color. 

“Well I’ll be damned…”

—

We were a pretty small town, as you might’ve guessed. So it was no surprise how quickly word got around.

Within an hour, the entire town had gathered down by the riverside. The mayor, fresh into his first term, stood between his town and the copper-hued Pig’s Foot. 

“Everyone… everyone please calm down,” pleaded Mayor McCracken. 

Few of us listened to his request. It was clear the new mayor was out of his element here. 

People were afraid. People were curious. They demanded answers.

“How did this happen?” cried an older woman.

“Is it safe? I get my water from that river!” shouted a farmer.

“He’s right - I don’t want to drink that!” agreed his neighbor.

“Okay, okay. I know we all have a lot of questions right now,” appealed the mayor. “I’m going to see if I can find some answers.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” asked a concerned constituent.

Mayor McCracken knew our little town didn’t have any scientists in residence. Just one doctor, a septuagenarian who wasn’t exactly up to speed on the latest medical advances.

Doctor Moyer had indeed delivered just about every man, woman, and child in town. Fixed our broken bones and treated our measles and gave us our medicines. We all trusted him in matters of human health and wellness.

But we all asked the question - what does Dr. Moyer know about an orange river?

—

They found the good doctor caring for a young girl with a fever across town. He rushed down to the riverbed, carrying every medical instrument he could think of - whatever good that would do.

Dr. Moyer knelt down and examined the water. He gazed upon the ginger fluid for some time, then lowered his head. Oddly enough, he listened to the waves break upon the riverbed. He then brought his nose closer, and proceeded to sniff the water for a good moment. 

Eventually, as we townsfolk watched in awe and wonder, the doctor slowly lowered his left hand, fingertips first, into the water. Thinking better of this, he jerked his hand back. Looking at the orange water drip from his fingers - which did not turn orange as we’d expected - he contemplated the situation. 

After some time, he again lowered his left hand to the water, now submerging his entire hand. He wiggled his fingers around a bit. Then he paused, as he clearly noticed something in the water.

He turned toward the crowd, and called for little Charley Plimton. 

“Charley! Hey, bring me your fishing pole, will you?”

The pole was never far from Charley’s reach, and the boy brought it over to the doctor. Dr. Moyer took the pole, already baited with a worm, and cast it into the water.

“I want to see the fish..” he muttered, almost to himself. 

And we, the whole town, waited in eager anticipation. This time of day we knew we could be waiting a long time. The fish wouldn’t bite much till dinnertime. 

It didn’t take long for us to realize what the doctor was trying to uncover - were the fish orange too? His hand did not change color. Would the animals who called Pig’s Foot home change?

Mercifully, we only had to wait 10 minutes or so. As Dr. Moyer reeled in his catch, our breaths held firm. Hi back toward us, he pulled the fish from the water, removing it from the hook. Slowly he turned, so show us his catch.

The fish was indeed not orange. 

“Anyone wanna cook this up?” asked the doctor playfully.

—

We all gathered in the local pub. Hey, when the river turns orange, it seems like a good day to take off work and have a pint mid-afternoon. The adults debated what to do while the kids played cards in the corner.

“How the heck could this have happened?” asked a concerned mother.

“Surely an act of God. We’re being punished for something,” replied a local shop owner.

“Why us? What did we do?” replied the preacher, not looking to see his savior blamed for this oddity.

“There’s that factory… a couple hours down the road,” suggested Miss Atkins. “Could this be from their waste? Pollution?”

“Unlikely,” considered Dr. Moyer. “I’ve been there. Nothing dumps into the water supply. Nothing that could make its way here.”

We were all stumped, completely puzzled. Why, on this warm day in May, would the river just turn orange? What caused it? Was the water safe to touch? Seemed to be, based on Dr. Moyer’s left hand. Was it also safe to drink then? To cook with? And if not… what would we do? How could this be fixed?

As we drowned our concerns in a couple pints, we heard some commotion coming from outside the pub.

“Hey! HEY! Look, down by the river!”

We all rushed from our seats and into the sunlight, looking down the hill. It was hard to place, but there was a person - a child - standing just inches from the river.

As we hurried down the hill, we realized it was a young girl named Lucy Holden. Short, freckled, and ginger hair the color of the river itself. As we arrived, she was dipping her toes into the water, wiggling them around amongst the fish.

“Lucy, NO!” cried her mother.

But the girl heard nothing, or at least did a sensational job of ignoring the cry. She began wading slowly into the river.

First her feet, then ankles and calves. Her legs, her waist were now submerged. She eventually sunk in to her chest, gave the crowd a confident smile, and dunked her head under.

We met this action with cries of terror. What was this girl thinking?

Her head rose from the water, dripping orange water but her hair and face still kept their true color. Her little smile grew into a wide grin. 

As us adults watched in horror, the town’s children saw this as an opportunity. They began kicking off their shoes and making their way down to the river, too. Us parents, we all screamed and hollered in a panic, trying to keep our little ones from going in. 

But our calls fell upon deaf ears. Each child slowly, meticulously, began entering the water. Once that initial moment of hesitation passed, they each dove and ducked under the water, emerging with grins to match Lucy’s. They proceeded to swim and splash and laugh and play for the rest of the evening. Truth be told, we’d never seen them so happy. 

Pig’s Foot River had been a constant in our lives since the day we were born. You could always count on it providing a source of hydration or an ample supply of fish to feed us. We’d bathed in the river. Played in there. Without the river, there was no town.

The next morning we awoke to the river back to its usual color. Not a drop of orange to be found. We were nervous about it at first, but eventually we all found ourselves again drinking its water and eating its fish. Life gradually returned to normal in our town.

But we’ll never forget the day the river turned orange.