My own birth story always included reference to a mighty flood that swept away the bridge that connected my family's home to the road that led to town. My mother told me how they had a car on the each side of the river and a foot bridge over high waters. When she brought me home, they parked on the far side of the river and she carried me, a small bundle, in her arms across the planks above the water to the other side.
When my parent built their house it was near the river, but when it began to flood the river moved closer to the house and it seemed possible that it could tear the house from the foundations. So a few weeks before my birth, my father and some other men redirected the river's channel to a new direction, saving the house yet altering the geography.
For the last two weeks the river has been flooding again. Last weekend my mother called and told me that after heavy rain on top of record amounts of snow pack in the mountains, the river ripped apart an old bank and poured itself back into the old channel next to the house<. There is a lot more snow in the mountains, and warm weather and thunderstorms predicted for next weekend. So my eldest son and my sister and I flew back to Montana to help empty the basement and move valuables out.
And now I see the river as it has never been since a few weeks before I was born. A muddy and swollen river rushes where I used to play. I am used to urban geography changing with the whims of construction and demolition. But it's much more awesome to witness a river deciding to change it course.