Barlow’s Bucket Betrayal

Forest Moss - Satirical Tale of Unpreparedness

Part of Forest Series By Forest Moss 5/2025

By Twisty Gnome’s tall gates, Barlow’s posters shout,

“Floods Are Fake! Buckets Must Be Sold Out!”

Barlow the Beaver, chest puffed with pride,

Declared, “Each pail is mine—no need to justify!”

He eyed buckets for sale in proud, polished rows,

While his stern sentinels snarled, “Obey or go!”

“Why cling to buckets when slogans will save?

Our grand Flood-Control Ministry—unyielding and brave!”

At dawn, Barlow trumpeted his new decree—

No unapproved water use—now outlawed, you see!

He sealed it with flourish beneath torchlit glow,

Then watched as banners and balloons steal the show.

The auction bell tolled—CLANG!—as each pail fetched its price,

“Forge Forest Forward!” trumpeted signs, boldly displayed.

One by one the buckets were carted away,

While stump sentinels silenced any plea to delay.

Though edicts stripped emergency tools and supply stores,

Relief barns stood silent with bolted-shut doors.

Pumphouses lay bare—no hoses to spare,

Critters afraid of rain-lashed air waded there.

Rilla the Rabbit froze—her whiskers twitching tight—

She muttered, “No buckets—no hope through the night.”

The mice who whispered, “We need water,” then found

Their words erased by a burning memory mound.

Where was Barlow? He basked by his empty coffers,

Counting coin-clacks as the waters began.

He boasted, “No torrent can topple this wood!”

But the riverbank’s lip quivered—no mandate could hold.

Roots gave way—SPLASH!—as mud slid away,

Driftwood churned downstream in furious ballet.

Barlow’s bright badge dulled; his gold lost its sheen—

No decree could rebuild what had once been.

Old Mother West Wind thundered in full,

“Who guards these banks when propaganda fails?

Who prepares, or who will merely boast—

While authorities ignore the drowned.”

Chipmunks and mice fashioned bark buckets with vine,

And scavenged hoses from the mill’s lean lines.

Barlow lounged upstream on his sun-warmed log,

Lost in idle daydream, unmoved by their slog.

Then, in moonlit hush, the forest brigade joined forces—

Bark buckets in tow, stitched from bark and vine strands.

They scooped racing waters, each pail to the next breach,

Plugged gaps with logs, stones, and branches they heaved.

They laid hoses to divert the flow to meadow streams,

Rebuilt the dam with mud packed firm below.

Rabbits, badgers, mice, each shovel in hand—

Worked through the night till banks could firmly stand.

In lantern light they gathered, side by side, brave and true,

A hopeful hush enveloped them—Barlow’s promise broke in two.

“Thank you,” Rilla whispered, “we’ve weathered every strain,”

And shoulder to shoulder vowed to guard against his reign.

Moral:

When leaders fail, neighbors prevail—

united hands hold back the gale.

Why I wrote this:

I wrote this fable to highlight the real-world consequences of stripping away vital emergency resources. By imagining buckets as essential tools for keeping the forest safe, the story shows how policies driven by slogans rather than care can leave communities exposed when disaster strikes.

I also wanted to celebrate the power of neighbors helping neighbors. When leadership fails, it is collective ingenuity—crafting makeshift tools, sharing labor, and standing together against future storms—that ultimately protects everyone and builds true resilience.