“Floods can happen almost anywhere; it is the speed at which the water rises that is often more important in terms of the effect that water will have. Some of the most dangerous floods happen in the places they are least expected.”
— Tristan Gooley, “How to Read Water”
Last week rainstorms rolled through the area flooding rivers, lakes and creeks. Naturally, like a snow day, we decided to take a look-see. Down by the West Bank lock and dam the river ran high, debris — large stuff — flowed fast with the current. Officials set up barricades, making sure gawkers like us stayed back, also assuring no one launched a boat. Maybe like the adventurous who, for the thrill, try to surf waves much too high. Mostly people like us looked at the river and each other. Some took pictures.
On the Plymouth Bluff side, water covered the road, the parking area and all of the grassy field where times before there had been fishermen, bank-walkers, folks in lawn chairs or sitting on buckets, babies in playpens, dancing to car radios or sitting by their mommas. Now it was all water.
We headed toward town to see the Riverwalk and parked at the lot below Harvey’s restaurant. More lookers and picture-takers. There wasn’t a lot of talk or noise, just quiet and the sounds of river water running fast. From there we drove around to the island. To the north we could see the river rising high on the river side by the camp houses. Outside, people leaned on pickups, arms folded, watching. The island house nearest town was already flooded. On the opposite side of the road the amphitheater was covered by water and rising.
Afterwards we thought we’d take one more look-see at the east bank, but we didn’t make it. Water covered the access road, so we turned around and headed to the Prairie. From the bridge the river was higher than I had ever seen it. Logs ran with the current. It was a strange feeling, like something running through your blood, not fear exactly, not anxiety, maybe awe, something like that.
Close to home the rain started and quickly grew harder and loud. By that time cell phones were issuing tornado warnings. At home we turned on the TV for more news until internet and television service went out. Texts came in and out, folks checking on us and us checking on them. Then lights went out; we were in the dark and all went silent.
There was a time when I studied Lehman’s Non-Electric catalog, thinking one day I could live “off-the-grid.” Non-electric stoves, refrigerators, washing machines and other appliances. There were composting toilets and lanterns and mechanical gadgets. It’s only when the power goes out, I realize I’m no longer cut out for living without electricity. We sat and waited by candlelight, continuing to text friends and family ’til the last bit of battery finally played out.
Author’s note: A big thank you to all the emergency responders assisting those in need. Thank you to Four-County for promptly restoring electricity. Thank you for neighbors, friends and family across the country and beyond for checking on our community.
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