The time of the flood was upon us last week, as my scantily clad building was forced to endure some four days of near-constant rain showers and downpours.

It seemed almost surreal—a teleportation vacation to Scottie-land—to look out the window and see real live heavy rain fall for days. As I understand it, we're still numerous inches short of our needed rainfall this year. Nonetheless, there is little doubt that the rain was as godsend.

My building, on the other hand, wasn't quite ready for the deluge. The floors, covered with building materials, sawdust and tools, were partially flooded. With Saturday's sunshine, and a little help from my trusty cleanup crew, it was little worse for wear.

The rain's entrance into the picture did give me more motivation to apply more metal to the outside of the structure.

On Saturday, I managed to apply a large section of metal before I ran out of daylight. Oh well, there's always next weekend.

The night prior, I enjoyed a visit from an old friend. I say old here in the figurative sense, but he certainly doesn't look like the fellow I used to ride around with 20-some years ago. Two of his children are in high school. Some of his hair is turning grey and the rest is turning loose. That sounds familiar.

He brought along his wife, who still hasn't hit 30, and his baby. He's a volunteer fireman and a municipal employee.

We spent more time catching up on current events than the ‘good old days,' which most of us are lucky to have survived.

I thought about the days when we would take his little Chevy and drive along the abandoned Norfolk and Southern railway lines along the river. There was no point in it, but pointlessness is a trademark of youth.

That same railroad line late became the Appalachian Trail and you'd likely get arrested for driving on it in the middle of the night. Once the car got stuck on a trestle when a railroad tie was missing in the middle of the journey and we had to lift the car out of the hole and push it forward to keep going. We were too far along the trestle to go back. Luckily, it was dark and we were stupid. Darkness was fortunate, since we couldn't see the deadly fall awaiting us at the bottom of a water and rock filled gorge below. Lucky to be stupid...well, maybe that wasn't so lucky.

Our young days were spent like most of the world's youth has been spent (or misspent in many cases) in riding aimlessly, doing things that shouldn't be done and going places that shouldn't be gone.

It was nice to find out where some of the old crew ended up. Since my friend hasn't moved around as much as me, he still sees some of them. He told me that one of the guys, whose trademark was wearing bedroom slippers everywhere, is still living with his parents in the same house. It's hard to get a real job when you show up for the interview in slippers and your nickname is ‘Beaner.'

Another friend is now running a small construction business. He married a lady with a child, but I don't think he ever had children of his own. He owns the house where I spent most of my ‘growing up' years.

Another one of the fellows we used to know became a preacher, but I'm not sure what became of him after that. He married one of my first girlfriends, with whom he had three children in some 15 years of marriage. I was told that she ended up leaving him and taking up with a fellow some 20 years her senior in a nearby city. I thought that story sounded like it belonged in a novel.

Yet another of my old friends, I was told, is now living out west somewhere, where he married for the first time around the age of 40 and was divorced very shortly thereafter. Of course, I have all this only through hearsay. He has no children that I know of. I saw his sister not long ago and she gave me his phone number, but it didn't work when I tried to call him. She didn't mention the marriage, but did say he was living out west in Wyoming and was happy there. At least I think it was Wyoming. It's hard to concentrate when you are the one responsible for watching two children in the toy isle of a department store. It's hard to have a conversation at all unless you don't mind sentences interlaced with, "Put that down," "Don't touch that," "Get that out of your mouth," and "Don't hit your sister with that."

Some of the other friends who helped shape my early days are unaccounted for—some have died in accidents, some are in prison and others simply vanished into the oblivion otherwise known as ‘off the mountain.' I suppose we could all find the same in our yearbooks.

I don't ever remember seriously considering life outside these mountains as an alternative for myself. I did make a few trips to see what it was like ‘out there,' but came back assured that the world was bigger, but no better, than the one I knew at home.

Some of us have forged bonds here in these mountains that are too strong to break. As for youth, it's nice to look back and find those who share and augment our memories. And for a little while, it's nice to remember the shenanigans and that God that we're still around to reminisce.