Posts tagged floods

After The Flood

AFTER THE FLOOD

It was just the day before wIMG_0183hen my grandson and I had been looking for “crayfish ‘n lizards” in the little creek that runs through my uncles yard.

Over night a wicked storm had come through that turned the neighborhood into a lake.

Footbridges washed away, shrubbery, flowers, gone.

It taught us a lesson in appreciating what we have-today, the creek is lined with huge boulders to “hold back the rain.” It is ugly, the creek went from natural to today’s version of protecting our homes, tainted only by the tears of a grandma who remembered.

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A Gift for the Market

The sun was a ball of fire rising through the fog. Finally, the clatter of rain had turned to an autumn portrait of drying flood waters. We rode down the muddy path in our weathered farm wagon, bumping along, hooves clomping, with the wagon filled with produce for the market in town.

The chill in the air, the slush of mud, I pulled my shawl close around me. Then I saw the reflection of the wet green world upon the river. I realized that without both the sun and the rain, we would not be on our way to market.

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What Matters Most

 

They hadn’t seen the little stream flooded like that in decades! Eight-year-old Johnny brought his little brother out to the edge of the stream to see the roaring of the muddy water.

“Wow!” shouted little Bobby, as he gazed at the roaring stream . “What happened?” Bobby’s little face gazed at the boiling, debris-filled water.

 

“It’s a flood,” Johnny explained, walking down the edge of the creek, observing the shaking of the shrubs being torn from the banks, as they slid away as the water overpowered the banks, now slick and muddy from the power of the rumbling water.

 

Suddenly, Bobby broke away and ran down to the edge of the bridge.

 

“Bobby, come back, the bank might collapse!” Johnny cried.

 

“No! He cried. The bank was sliding away, carrying Bobby with it.

 

With his last bit of strength, Johnny grabbed Bobby’s’ belt as he clung to a bush with his other hand. He plucked his little brother from the deluge, carrying him back to the trailer on the hillside where they lived.

 

“Oh my God!” cried their mother as she ran down the rotting steps. “What in the world happened.”

 

Tears were running down Johnny’s face as his mom held Bobby tightly in her arms. Johnny was lost for words, all he could say as he sat breathlessly on the steps was, “The bank collapsed, I couldn’t get him!”

 

“No, baby, their mom smiled, you DID get him, you are the bravest boy I know!”

 

They were all crying now, dirty and cold as they sat there watching the rushing water carry away the bush that Johnny had been holding onto.

 

Suddenly, nothing else mattered, the rusted trailer, the old red truck, daddy loosing his job. They had each other. Mother carried little Bobby in to his father, as he sat with his head down on the tattered couch.

 

For the first time in weeks, Daddy smiled. He knew everything would be alright.

 

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A Quiet Place

The river was out of its banks again. Muddy torrents rushed around the bend as they headed for the dam at the old water plant. Trees swayed at the edge of the water, looking as if they would topple in at any moment. She had walked down this trail so many times, it had been her “quiet place” as a teen. But not today, it held the roar of a restless spirit. She saw the old mill stone laying near the path. Beside it, something caught her eyes. A human skull, she thought, sucking in her breath. No! Not again!

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In Nature, All is Equal

After ten days of rain, the creeks had turned into raging rivers, fields where corn had just begin to show hope, were lakes of muddy brown. Roads had washed away in the loud, angry torrents.

Suddenly, the heaviness of water became too much for the steep, over developed vistas. Firetrucks warned the wealthy residents to get out-now. Forget packing the fancy furnishings, the mountain was giving away!

Our 1920’s bungalow sat safely on a gentle hill, above the swirling waters, below the sliding cliff sides. Now, the moist air was expectantly pleasant. In nature, all man is equal.

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Haunting by the Rain Gods

On the 3rd of July, somebody prayed for rain. As usual, it didn’t quite work out like they hoped. On the 4th of July it rained 10 inches, rivers flooded, land was washed away, band new flooring ruined, shrubs, bushes, trash stopped up gutters. The next day, it rained, and the next and the next-maybe a while the sun would come out, people would start to clean, but then it would rain. Insurance companies are elated-this is the mountains-no one has flood insurance!

A week later-its raining buckets, bridges washing out again, yards and golf courses are lakes, banks caving off again. I’m quite sure the rain gods are haunting us! Could someone put up a stop sign, or build an arc?

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Flooded 4th of July

Flooded 4th of July

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Unnatural Fireworks

Unnatural Fireworks

July 5, 2013 | Leave a comment

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The noisy booms from the sky, streaks of color lighting the clouds,

Yes, it’s the fourth of July, but Mother natures rules this year.

The tiny creek is a raging river, littered with trees, bird feeders, toys.

Our grave driveway is underneath the water that blocks the road.

My dad worked at the Tennessee Valley Authority when I was a kid.

Their job was to try to manage flood control. Where there were floods,

We went to photograph, special phone numbers told river levels.

We filled out charts in the days when a main frame took up a room-did one thing.

It’s in my blood. Two of my sons son and two friends sloshed up the road.

The water running down what used to be roads, way to deep to be safe.

Taking videos, pictures, laughing, giving up on umbrellas, soaked to the skin.

Though we laughed, it was muted, somber. We knew why the yards of mud came.

Our mountain city is obsessed with getting rich people from other places to come here.

Strip the vegetation so they can “see” from houses we couldn’t dream of.

We shout to no one, “GO HOME!” CLEAN UP THIS MESS!” But they keep coming.

The collapsed retaining wall and 8 feet of lost land are somehow “our” problem.

I know how the native Americans felt. For “white folks” we’ve been here a long time.

The 1780 US Census lists us in this county, by 1840, we were on this road.

We have lived in this house 5 generations and now my kids can’t afford to live her.

Something is really wrong with this. It used to be a quiet farming community.

I can’t help it, I am mad. I know good people have come here too.

For all the greedy developers, mostly bankrupt before to long, I have one message,”Go the heck home, glare down on your “lessers”, ruin their land, build mansions, ruin the land,

and don’t forget to take pictures of w=what life was like before you ruined it for them.

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