The following story was too good to pass up. I laughed so hard my sides hurt.
From Haywood County Heritage Vol. I

160 HOW CLYDE GREW
I wasn't but four or five years old when the explosion sent shockwaves up and down the Pigeon River Valley around Clyde. I don't remember it. The story was told to me by several people who recalled it well. My main sources were versions told by my mother, Alice Hawkins Haynes (ninety-three years old at this writing, 1992) ,Julian Smathers, and George (Junior) Cogburn.

From 1931 to 1935, parts of the western United States were devastated not only by the Great Depression, but also by the "Black Blizzard," the Dust Bowl. The Federal Government, in an effort to relieve the financial crisis of the farmers and to save as much as possible of American livestock herds, bought thousands of animals and shipped them east to farmers who had the fodder to feed them. Eastern farmers were paid by the government to feed the animals. Later, most of the government-owned beef cattle were slaughtered and the meat distributed to destitute victims of the Great Depression.
During the fall and winter, 1933, hundreds of beef cattle and horses were shipped into Haywood County. Local farmers barned and fed the beef cattle for government pay, but most of the horses were sold. That's how Dad came to own a team of Western mares, Pearl and May. And Dad took about ten head of government cattle to feed. In early spring, 1934, it was discovered that the western cattle had some kind of intestinal disease. The disease was not dangerous to humans, but could be transmitted to local cattle in the manure of the infected cattle. The Federal Government, who owned the diseased cattle, in its infinite wisdom, decided that all the manure from these cattle should be scraped up, collected and hauled to a central location to be buried. The farmers, of course, would be paid for this manure entombment. The central location in Haywood County was Clyde.
With drag-pans and teams of mules, a huge rectangular hole was dug in Rufe (Rufus) Penland's river bottom just across the Pigeon River from Clyde. The pit was about two or three blocks from the center of town. For days and days, with horses and wagons, sleds and trucks, local farmers gathered and hauled cow manure to the big pit in Clyde. When the hole was full, the manure was covered with about six feet of dirt.
This huge quantity of organic material began to decompose under pressure. A few little holes vented methane gas as the mass settled and became even more compacted. The mass seethed for a few more days, then one morning about ten o'clock, there was a gigantic explosion. Eye-witnesses said it was like a volcano. A blue flame, about the size of a man's body, shot over a hundred feet into the air. The force of the explosion blew cow manure much higher and it literally rained manure in all directions, but the heart of Clyde seemed to bear the greater part of the manure bombardment. Most of the airborne particles were small, but some went up and came down in large chunks.
Ed Fincher's house was just across the river from the pit. So much manure fell into his yard, he complained that he had to mow his lawn at least three times a week all that summer. Ed, who owned Fincher's Dry Goods and Hardware Store in downtown Clyde, also complained about having to hire men with rakes and shovels to remove two wagon loads of manure from the roof of his store. Walt Smathers lived somewhat downriver from the explosion and across the road from Clyde School. He said there was so much natural fertilizer in his yard he thought about plowing it up and planting pumpkins. Pumpkins were selling for the high price of five cents each that year. Crowds of people gathered to watch men with hoes rake manure from the roof of the old Clyde Inn which stood where the Pioneer Restaurant is now. My Uncle, Jeter Hawkins, who lived on a hill overlooking Clyde, said that he had not heard an explosion like that since he had come back from the Great War. Many people had to replace numerous window panes. My Mom, Dad and brother Robert were working in our garden next to the river about a mile above Clyde. They remembered the explosion. Mom said it sounded like a wagon load of dynamite had gone off. But all who remembered agreed that Clyde had never been as fertile and green, before or since, as it was in the summer of 1934.
In the 1930's and 1940's, on Old U.S. 19-23, there were signs posted at Clyde town limits: on the east at the Downs Curve and on the west at a place called The Pines near the Silver Moon Cafe. Both signs read "Watch Clyde Grow." Clyde was much smaller then. Among Clyde oldsters there were two explanations for the growth of Clyde since then. One, of course, is that town growth was a direct result of the "Great Manure Blizzard of 1934." The other explanation is attributed to the Southern Railways Express Train from Asheville to Murphy that came through Clyde at 4:30 a.m. every morning. The train woke everybody up and it was too early to get up and too late to go back to sleep.
Submitted by: Sammy Neil Haynes, 338 Thickety Rd., Clyde, NC