Our sunny streets have lost their luster…

Exhausted emotionally and physically, we are at the wait-and-see end of preparing for an unprecedented man made flood.

A force to be reckoned with, the Missouri River came by its nickname “the mighty Mo” for good reason, as it now forces individuals living and working along or near its shores to flee – all the way from South Dakota to Iowa, Nebraska to Missouri and downstream to Kansas City.

I’ve come to realize that flooding rivers don’t discriminate the way tornadoes selectively touch down, wildly carve out a limited path of destruction and then 5 or 10 minutes later, leave, lift or disappear all-together.

Equal opportunity disasters, flooding rivers send roaring waters for miles and miles, overreaching their boundaries three-, four-, five-times or more.
While most floods typically last two days and then recede, draining down semi-clogged storm sewers, running off and soaking the ground, this flood will last one to two months, maybe longer.

Giving us the cold shoulder, it is creeping over highways and embankments; crawling through underpasses and across farm fields; filling basements and upper floors; turning parking lots into lakes, lakes into rivers and rivers into oceans.

We no longer crunch our way through stands of trees but wade on glittering floors.

When eyeing sandbag levees, this flood does not blink. It snake around homes, businesses, sub-stations, water treatment plants, water towers, wells, streets, schools, completely hemming in entire communities.

Our sunny streets have lost their luster, littered with depleted sand piles, tired shovels laid to rest and reserves of sentry sandbags stand by for the next call of duty.

The playful sounds of summer are quieted as we wait and watch rising waters inch closer to our once content and carefree existence.

This epic flood has changed our plans: vacations cancelled, weddings moved, summer camps closed, fundraisers postponed, parties on hold – our entire lives detoured.

The clock is ticking as more and more water is released from Gavin’s Point Dam some 50 miles upstream in Yankton, S.D.

We listen to dismal news reports chirping river stages that are now as common as air temperatures.

Our backs stiffen, our necks harden and our knees buckle with the pain of losing summer even before it began.

Feverishly, we are tempted to point fingers, hoping that casting blame will somehow relieve this grief and calm our anger.

Shaking our tired heads, we talk ourselves and others down off the ledge of despair. Lowering our clenched fists, we pick up our shovels. Stuffing the raspy calls for justice that well in our chests, we fill more sandbags. Holding back deep sadness, we help strangers. Fighting denial, we work day and night to hold back the waters.

While this flood moves in and takes up residence in our once tranquil lives, we do first-things-first – brace for the worst, hope for the best and get to the bottom of this later.

2011 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Bosco Damon is a national award-winning columnist. Her writing has won first-place in competitions of the National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women. In the 2009, 2010 and 2011 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contests, her columns have earned eight first-place awards. To contact Paula, email boscodamonpaula@gmail, follow her blog at my-story-your-story.blogspot.com and find her on FaceBook.

You know you’re in for a flood when…

It doesn’t take much to realize that an unprecedented “flood event,” a euphemism government officials like to use, is headed your way.

For instance, you know you’re in for a flood when suddenly an unexplained public information meeting has been called for the first time in 36 years.
You know you’re in for a flood when…

… the Red Cross greets you at the door.

…the mayor opens the meeting by saying, “Now, folks, no matter what happens, we are all in this together.”

... all of the websites referred to at the meeting begin with www.disasterrecovery or www.bReady.

…you can correctly pronounce and spell the word “levee.”

…for the first time ever, you know exactly where your town’s levees are located and what conditions they are in.

…the sights and sounds of Blackhawk heli
copters hovering over your area, while dangling 1,000-pound bags of sand, are everyday occurrences.

… four out of every five vehicles on the highway are dump trucks, transporting fill dirt to build new levees.

…your entire life revolves around if the levee breaks.

…you can report the current Missouri River stage at any given time.

…you are on a first-name basis with your county’s Incident Command officials.

…you know the exact elevation of your property (11,003 feet), the school elevation (11,009 feet), the sewer system (11,002 feet) and just about every part of town.

…you actually try to calculate the flood threat by adding the sum of your elevation and the river stage to your location relative to the river gauge but ultimately give up.

…your community looks like a war zone with Army National Guard troops controlling every entrance and exit to town.

Similarly, you know you’ve been sandbagging way too long when…

…you begin reciting statistics, such as: Two people can fill, tie and load 25 sandbags in 30 minutes. It takes three hours for a team of 15 to 20 people to build a 20-foot long, four-foot high sandbag levee.

…you know that 300 sandbags really don’t go very far.

…you set the alarm for 5 a.m. on Saturday morning, your only day to sleep in, to fill more sandbags.

…you think you need to fill 100 more sandbag even after you’ve already filled more than 700.

…you talk to the Weather Channel meteorologist on your TV screen by saying, “Good weather for sandbagging.”

…your back is breaking, your shoulders are aching, your knees won’t bend and every muscle in your body is in pain from filling and hauling all those sandbags, which weigh anywhere from 50 to 70 pounds each.

…you become weirdly territorial as you experience a sudden and unexplained obsession to protect your stake of the sand pile and stack of filled bags behind you.

…you actually start thinking which color of sandbags you prefer – army green, sunburst yellow, plain white or bright orange – and for a brief moment you seriously wonder if you should color coordinate them on the levee around your house.

…you really wish there were a Duct Tape or an App to protect you, your family and your property from flooding.

... you think high school and college students are God’s gift to the world as flash mobs of them show up to help you fill sandbags and to build your levee.

…you are equally as grateful for your family, your church and your employer who all played critically important roles in helping you prepare for this epic flood.

…at the end of the day, you are humming “What a wonderful world” because you know that if it weren’t for all of these volunteers, you, your town and your entire area would be sunk – literally.

2011 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Bosco Damon is a national award-winning columnist. Her writing has won first-place in competitions of the National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women. In the 2009, 2010 and 2011 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contests, her columns have earned eight first-place awards. To contact Paula, email boscodamonpaula@gmail, follow her blog at my-story-your-story.blogspot.com and find her on FaceBook.