There once was a maple tree named Marv who lived in a Cleveland backyard that was wetter than a Lake Erie shoreline in April. Every spring, the yard turned into a squishy, shoe‑stealing swamp. The homeowner, Mrs. Kowalski, was convinced the ground was plotting against her.

One day, after yet another rainstorm, Marv felt his roots sitting in cold groundwater again. “Oh great,” he grumbled. “Foot bath season.” But instead of complaining, he did what trees do best: he started slurping.

Marv drank and drank until he felt like a giant wooden straw stuck in a giant muddy milkshake. The water rushed up his trunk like it was late for a meeting, shot into his leaves, and *poof* — evaporated into the sky like it had somewhere better to be.

Mrs. Kowalski stepped outside, looked around, and said, “Huh. The yard’s finally drying out. Must be the new weather pattern.” Marv rolled his leaves. “Lady, it’s me. I’m doing all the work here.”

But the real drama started when the neighbor’s oak, Old Man Barkley, shouted over the fence, “Slow down, kid! You’re gonna dry out the whole neighborhood!” Marv shouted back, “I’m not drying out the neighborhood — I’m just trying to keep her basement from becoming an indoor pool!”

By midsummer, the yard was firm, the grass was happy, and Mrs. Kowalski proudly told everyone, “I fixed the drainage problem.” Meanwhile, Marv was standing there like, “Ma’am… I’m the one who solved the drainage problem.”

And that’s how one hardworking tree became the unofficial sump pump of the neighborhood — no electricity, no maintenance, just roots, leaves, and a whole lot of attitude.