Tales from the flood. The end, after the math.
There are the tangibles.
Damages in 4D. Containers holding what's left of houses. Trailers in driveways in lieu of being able to live in the actual mold infested houses. Oh how you can smell those from a distance. Tents for the kids to make it fun, an adventure really. A variety of boots, pumps, hoses and sandbags grace our front yards as, just in case, art. Eroded land, dead trees, broken....well you name it, it's broke. Odd river reeds sticking out of driveways. Not having an actual driveway myself any longer, I am jealous of those oddly perched reeds.
River wrote its name on everything we thought we owned.
The sounds of new wells being drilled 24/7 is akin to a science fiction flick which I am sure the human race is losing in this sequel. Trade trucks parked here and there, making a fortune off of our flood while we empty our bank accounts and go into massive debt. I must to get comfortable with these words - massive and debt.
There is a special place in hell for tradesmen charging quadruple the amount post flood. I will find you. And like the ice storm of 98', your businesses will be published in the local paper. People are making lists, decency will rule and we will find you.
And then, there are the intangibles.
Bricks and mortar can be rebuilt, what will rebuild us?
Strokes, mental and physical exhaustion needing hospital stays, couples breaking up, despair, depression, extended medical leaves, anxiety, non stop worries, loss of weight, weight gain, injuries...I can count 8 people on this road that have had to seek medical attention. What is the cost of that?
On any given day of the week a neighbour will stop and inevitably cry on my shoulder. Not having had extensive damage to my house, not having been evacuated and being of comedic mind, I am the one they believe strong. What the hell do they know? I have just enough strength to make it to my door, pull the shades and hope I can stop crying long enough to eat a pie.
Is this type of flooding the new norm? There is now a flood hamster running its wheel in my brain, it never rests. Bastard.
I have loved my river all my life, it has given me more than it has taken. It's the intention that counts.
Damages in 4D. Containers holding what's left of houses. Trailers in driveways in lieu of being able to live in the actual mold infested houses. Oh how you can smell those from a distance. Tents for the kids to make it fun, an adventure really. A variety of boots, pumps, hoses and sandbags grace our front yards as, just in case, art. Eroded land, dead trees, broken....well you name it, it's broke. Odd river reeds sticking out of driveways. Not having an actual driveway myself any longer, I am jealous of those oddly perched reeds.
River wrote its name on everything we thought we owned.
The sounds of new wells being drilled 24/7 is akin to a science fiction flick which I am sure the human race is losing in this sequel. Trade trucks parked here and there, making a fortune off of our flood while we empty our bank accounts and go into massive debt. I must to get comfortable with these words - massive and debt.
There is a special place in hell for tradesmen charging quadruple the amount post flood. I will find you. And like the ice storm of 98', your businesses will be published in the local paper. People are making lists, decency will rule and we will find you.
And then, there are the intangibles.
Bricks and mortar can be rebuilt, what will rebuild us?
Strokes, mental and physical exhaustion needing hospital stays, couples breaking up, despair, depression, extended medical leaves, anxiety, non stop worries, loss of weight, weight gain, injuries...I can count 8 people on this road that have had to seek medical attention. What is the cost of that?
On any given day of the week a neighbour will stop and inevitably cry on my shoulder. Not having had extensive damage to my house, not having been evacuated and being of comedic mind, I am the one they believe strong. What the hell do they know? I have just enough strength to make it to my door, pull the shades and hope I can stop crying long enough to eat a pie.
Is this type of flooding the new norm? There is now a flood hamster running its wheel in my brain, it never rests. Bastard.
I have loved my river all my life, it has given me more than it has taken. It's the intention that counts.
Comments
I think not.
Crying, real crying not the one based on drama or aiming to produce it, is a sign of being in touch with our pain or suffering. It is actually a good thing, for there is only so much space under the rug and we will trip on it eventually and the fall will be even harder.
Strength is shown through what we do, through how we make people feel, through the fact that day after day we keep getting up and putting those waders on.
Cry all you want. You will never make me believe you are anything but the strongest kick-ass blonde I know.
Cheers and congrats on being such an inspiration.
Daniel
Thank you.
Kiss your lovely woman.
xox