The Wrath of Mother Nature

This isn't a childhood memory.  It happened yesterday, but this is one of those things I will in the future tell my children and my grandchildren that I lived through.  This is one of those events I will talk about, even though I wasn't at the heart of the worst of this storm, I was a part of it.  I know people who were robbed by it; I know those who were terrified by it.

Irene made her way into central Vermont in the early hours of Sunday morning, August 28th, 2011.  The rain was fickle and sparse to begin with, but the sky was dark and as the day grew older the sky grew darker, the rain heavier, the wind more fierce.  There was no torrential downpour that came in sheets so thick I couldn't see past my arm's length like there was earlier this year during the spring flood, but the rain came steadily. 

At around two o'clock in the afternoon, I decided to take a quick walk down to the closest bridge.  Granite street bridge is flocked on this side of the river by old granite sheds and industrial buildings, and a tombstone designer.  I shuffled in my knee high boots and rain jacket through the rain that whipped at right angles against me to the edge of the bridge.  Looking over the side, I realized that the water drain emptying into the river was a torrent.  I wondered how long it would be until the drain was covered.  I still continued to tell myself that it wouldn't get covered; the rain simply wasn't heavy enough.

As  I walked back to my apartment, I started to look down into the storm drains, wondering how high they were.  I realized then my street may actually have a chance of flooding, where it didn't in May.  The storm drains all seemed mostly full, coming about a yard from the drain and consequently the street itself.  I kept telling myself it was fine.  Surely, Montpelier wouldn't flood again after the supposed "100-year flood" we had this spring.  After all, we're supposed to have a century between each devastating flood.

I went home and made lunch with Jeff.  Shortly after, the overcast gray skies and consistent pattering of the wind and rain against the windows lulled me into a haze, so I wandered into the bedroom, curled up under the warm green comforter and fell asleep.

I woke up around five-thirty in the evening and in a daze I got up.  The power was still on.  This was a great sign - the wind wasn't taking the toll they were expecting.  Waters must be receding, as I couldn't hear the same level of rain falling on the tin roof over our porch.  Jeff and I made dinner, watched television and enjoyed the rainy day while it lasted.  It smelled like fall, and it was chilly.

During dinner,  I started to hear sirens every five minutes; police sirens, ambulance sirens, fire truck sirens.  I got curious.  So after washing dishes and cleaning up, I told Jeff I was going to go see what all the hubbub was about.  He told me to stay dry and be safe.  I borrowed his camera, in case the water really was high so that I could document it, just in case it had gotten worse.

The first thing I did was walk to the same bridge I had before.  The water had risen at least 6 feet since I had last been there, as the storm drain was no longer visible.  Granite Street bridge is at one of the higher points along the river in Montpelier, so I knew if it was this bad here, it would be worse downtown.  I decided that my jeans were already wet and at least the top half of me was kept dry by my rain jacket, so I started down the bike path towards town.

As I got towards the end of the bike path, behind the restaurant Sarduccis, I happened to look over the side of the fence.  I had taken a few pictures along the way and noted that as the bank got lower, the river was closer to flooding.  As I looked over that fence, I realized that I was looking at water that was nearly to the tops of young trees that stood normally approximately seven to eight feet tall.  I wanted to continue walking - my curiosity was insatiable.

I made my way off the bike path by following the train tracks from Angelino's to the alley between the dry cleaners and the bank.   I turned onto Main Street, stepping into a huge puddle.  This time I decided to wear flip flops.  I thought it a wise choice after stepping in a few deeper puddles.

There were really no visible signs on Main Street of any kind of damage.  I noticed police cars pulling into and out of the alley between the Lost Nation Theatre and Rite Aid.  Fire trucks were parked out in front of the fire station and people in slickers and wellies were wandering around town, some even with their small children.  It couldn't possibly be that bad if people were out walking around with their small children.

I made my way around the corner on to State Street, headed towards the state house.  I crossed the street and peered over the bridge by Capital Grounds at the river.  To my horror, the water had reached a point only approximately twelve to eighteen inches below the bridge.  I decided to go on.   Crossing the street again, I noticed that the Julio's parking lot was blocked off and there were people looking past the saw horses into the back.  I feared the worst, knowing what had happened this spring.  Wandering over to the blockade, I looked and saw the Julios parking lot, now converted into a dangerous swimming hole, probably filled with trash and debris.  Someone's golden retriever was wandering around in the water and there were a couple of people in yellow slickers eying us bystanders warily. 

I figured that if the water here was already this high, then the high school must already be flooded.  I started back down State Street, further into the flood zone.  I decided that getting a little further away from the river would be the safest, so I headed for the bike path.  The water in this area of the river was swollen, pressed against the bottom of the bridge, the footpath, and the train trestle, thirsty for destruction.  I stood on the bike path bridge and took pictures of the train trestle.  I began to notice the sound of something striking metal.  I couldn't place the sound and wasn't sure if it was coming from underneath me or in front of me.  I didn't feel the bridge doing anything so it wasn't the bike path.  I started noticing smaller debris floating out from underneath the bridge I was standing on, and then larger debris.  A huge piece of driftwood, probably once a tree, floated right underneath my feet.  When it came to the trestle, it made a very loud noise against the metal and then a crunching sound as it was sucked underneath the bridge.  It was time to keep going.

I decided I would brave it and try to make it to the high school.  I continued on the bike path almost to the bank across the road from the high school when I looked back over to my right towards the river.  I could see water lining the bike path as though the bike path itself was the river's bank.  I lost my nerve.  I turned around and started to run, my flip-flops slippery and my jeans soaked.  I made it back off the bike path on to State Street and walked from there, but I didn't stop for any more pictures after that.

I made it home safely, and luckily for me and Jeff and our cat, we didn't have to evacuate and we didn't flood at all.  Our condo, which we haven't moved into yet is also safe -although the town of Richmond was inundated.  In fact, towns all over the state, especially in southern Vermont, sustained considerable damage.  I heard from a friend that a man and his son in a small town near Rutland, Vermont were stranded on the roof of a gas station building until this afternoon (Monday August 29, 2011).  A woman was sucked into a raging torrent and is presumed dead.  Families have lost a few things and some have lost everything. 

The last I heard, Obama had pronounced Vermont in a state of emergency.  I've heard people predict this flood will rate worse than the 1927 flood.  The good thing about Vermont though is that we all pick each other up.  We grab a shovel and we help clean up our neighbor's yard.  If we have food and didn't have damage, we feed the people around us who have nothing.  And we always make sure those we know are taken care of.  It has always been this way.  It's like no matter how depleted our Vermont ethics become, we have a natural instinct that grows in disasters and times of need.  We find a way to make it work.

"I lived through the Vermont flood of 2011", I will tell my children and my grandchildren.  "I didn't have to do much, but I saw it happen.  I saw history destroyed - covered bridges washed away, factories and home-grown Vermont businesses flooded.  I was in Montpelier, and I was lucky enough to have been out of the brunt of it, but I remember it.  I remember the pictures and the news articles, the first hand accounts and the offers of help and those who reached out to their neighbors."

I lived through the second 100-year flood in six months.

All That is Great and Beautiful in the World

For all those who love children and summer and everything else that helps keep the world alive.

A Flock of Horses

There was one year, not long after we moved in to the house my mother built when we were young, that a thunder storm loomed over the horizon. We could see the lightning flickering inside of the monstrous black cloud that loomed with its hunched back, and we could hear the cracks of thunder peeling after each flicker. My brother and I were standing in the front yard, watching it make its way towards us. It lumbered over the shadowed hills like the great giant beast it was. Luke and I stood there, waiting for the fat freezing rain drops to fall. We could hear them smacking against the hill in front of us, watched them fall but felt nothing.

Then the rain hit, cold, and freezing and wonderfully refreshing at the end of a hot humid day. We stood there listening to the thunder and watching the lightning when the ground below us began to shake. It felt like the thunder that we had been listening to above us had suddenly and swiftly moved to the ground below us, until it cracked right above our heads again. I began to frantically look around, grabbing my brother by the hand, when suddenly I saw the wild eyes and wind-blown manes of our neighbor's horses as they crested the hill. Somehow having made it over their electric fence (or perhaps the power went out and thus the fence) they had, apparently, felt that heading in the direction of our house was the most logical answer to their panicked dilemma. I grabbed Luke by the hand and pulled him towards the garage, screaming to my mom the entire way.

My mom flung open the front door, looking as if she may have a heart attack; she said later I had been screaming like I was being murdered. Consequently, seeing the horses in our front yard surprised her, but she was still more angry at me for screaming like I was being attacked with a butcher knife.

I'm not really sure what happened after that, only that she called the neighbors to come and get their horses. I'm not even really sure how the neighbors got their horses back down the hill, because there had to have been at least ten of those ragged and frantic beasts in our yard.