By now you have read the advisory, or had it read to you over a fence, which is how most news travels in the Downs anyway. The Fenwater came up over its banks along the southern basin, crested at Brannock Crossing, and let itself into a good number of homes, barns, and root cellars without so much as a knock.

The hydromancers tell us the worst of it has passed. What they do not tell you, because it is not their department, is that what the river leaves behind is somehow worse than the river itself.

So here is the part where the Downs does what the Downs does. If you have a free morning, a strong back, a working broom, or a large pot, there is a job for you. Read on and pick one.

Show up at the Millhaven Grange Hall

The Grange Hall, just outside Vaelthir, is the heart of the effort. Volunteer sign-up sheets are pinned by the front door, sorted by job: mucking out, hauling, laundry, meals, and minding the little ones while their parents do the other four. No experience required for any of it. If you can hold a bucket, you qualify.

The sandbag station outside is now running in reverse. If you took sandbags during the advisory and your property has dried out, bring them back. Wet sand is wanted for fill along the eroded stretch of the south lane, and the empty bags get reused. Nothing is wasted in the Downs if Luna at the distribution table has anything to say about it, and she has a great deal to say. She runs the table from the top of the stacked bags, where she can keep an eye on the whole yard at once.

Mucking out, for those with boots and resolve

Crews leave the Grange Hall each morning and again after lunch, heading to the worst-hit homesteads along the southern basin. The work is exactly what it sounds like: shoveling silt, hauling ruined matting, and squeegeeing floors until they look like floors again.

A few rules from the crew leads, which I pass along with their blessing:

Wear boots with grip, not your market boots. Bring gloves if you have them; Luna has spares if you do not. Do not wade into any water you cannot see the bottom of, and stay clear of the riverbank by Brannock Crossing, where the ground is still deciding whether it wants to be land.

And mind the river itself. The Fenwater is back inside its banks but it is moving fast and sulking about something. Give it room.

Lend your dry spaces

If your barn, loft, or spare room kept its feet dry, consider lending it. There is a board at the Grange Hall matching dry space to wet neighbours. Livestock fostering is organized there too. If you can take a few chickens or a goat for a while, say so.

Feed the shovelers

An army of volunteers runs on its stomach, and the meal rota is the easiest way in if heavy lifting is not your gift. Hot dishes can be dropped at the Grange Hall kitchen any morning. Anything that can sit on a warming stone and be eaten standing up in fifteen minutes is perfect.

A note from Luna: label your dish and your pot. She would like to return your pots, as she is currently drowning in them.

The small jobs that are not small

Books, letters, and photographs that took water can often be saved if they are dried flat and soon. The lending shelf folk at the Downs Granary have set up a drying table and will take in anything paper. Interleave wet pages with dry cloth and get them there quickly, and do not try to peel apart anything stuck.

The fairies from the tinker’s workshop have been out along the basin threading warmth back into waterlogged soil, same as they coax the buds open each morning. They are glad of runners to carry their dew jars and kit between properties. Children are well suited to this and tend to take it very seriously.

And thank Luna. You will find her at the top of the sign-up board, where the view is best, or flat out on the warm stones by the kitchen door between rounds, soaking up what little sun the rain allows. She may be small, but she is the heart of the volunteer effort. Those wishing to thank her with more than words should know that she accepts payment in crickets, only in crickets, and that she considers this a great kindness on her part.

The rain does not stop. Neither, it turns out, do we. The river can have the low fields for a week. It cannot have the Downs.

Maud Pellingham writes about community life in the Downs. Her kitchen currently contains eleven pots that are not hers, and she is working on it.