Sam Venable 

Department of Irony

Lost Creek Mercantile, New Market, Tennessee Photo by Teresa Chambers

Lost Creek Mercantile, New Market, Tennessee    Photo by Teresa Chambers

I can’t believe this actually happened, much less that I was an enthusiastic participant. But there were witnesses and other participants, so it must be true.

It occurred on a scorching August afternoon a couple of years ago, when East Tennessee was in the clutches of a record-setting drought. Mary Ann and I had driven to New Market for the grand opening of Lost Creek Mercantile, a “new-old” country store.

Everything was going along swimmingly. There was abundant chatter and lots of nostalgic “ooh-aahing” as folks nibbled fresh-baked goodies while perusing the vintage décor.

Suddenly a loud, drumming noise from above silenced the crowd. Mouths dropped open. People gathered at the windows, staring in awe and wonder.

Could it be? Yes, it was!

Uh, rain was falling. Straight-down, torrential, jungle rain.

No thunder boomed. No lightning flashed. Just a frog-strangler deluge, as if the epicenter of Niagara Falls had been funneled to this one spot while the rest of East Tennessee baked.

What happened next?

Everybody ran to the front porch, of course. And there we all stood, gawking. If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin.’

Let that percolate in your mind for a moment. Here were perhaps three dozen 21st century adults, the vast majority of them college-educated. And they were spellbound as water fell out of the sky, like a bunch of hillbilly goobers who’d never seen such a spectacle.

It was fitting this occurred in a country store setting. The only thing missing was a couple of grizzled croaks, spitting tobacco juice and arguing over their checkerboard whether the last rain fell in aught-six or aught-seven.

I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. It reminded me of an oft-repeated memory from my paternal grandmother, Angie Venable, who was born in 1885. Anytime the subject of automobiles came up — for any reason —she’d take a stroll down Memory Lane.

“Oh, honey! You can’t believe the excitement when the first car came to Jonesboro! We all ran out to the road and watched it drive by!”

The cloudburst was over in no more than five minutes. The sun popped back out. The temperature climbed. Steam billowed from the surface of Churchview Street, only to disappear as the pavement quickly dried. Everybody drifted back inside, marveling at what we’d just witnessed.

To make certain it hadn’t been a mirage, Mary Ann called up the weather map on her phone. Yep, there it was — a tiny green blob directly over western Jefferson County.

I was fishing with my grandson a few days later and started to tell him about the phenomenon. But I figured Max would mentally roll his eyes and think “duh,” just like I did whenever Grandmother Venable brought up that car.


Sam Venable is an author, comedic entertainer, and humor columnist for the Knoxville (TN) News Sentinel. His latest book is “The Joke’s on YOU! (All I Did Was Clean Out My Files).” He may be reached at sam.venable@outlook.com.