Not over until the fat lady sings.
The tension throughout my neighbourhood is palpable.
Things have changed. The post part 'em flood is not still waters any longer.
Men and women in trade trucks come down the road by the dozen every single day. Septic tanks replacements, french drains, new siding, rebuilt driveways, dry wall, insulation...All sorts of experts. We give them all our money in a crazed fashion hoping to appease the river and ground water levels. Hoping to erase what cannot ever be unknown again. Querying, asking, pleading to turn back the clock and do whatever it takes to make our abodes and lives as they were pre flood.
The river is at its highest it has ever been in November. For some reason, instead of waiting until next Spring for a just in case scenario, the need to do it now is akin to needing air. There is a driving force behind the flood refugees and no logic can stop them. Second and third mortgages, government helped, family bankrolled, co-signers up the wazoo - doesn't matter, winter is knocking and homes are where you cook the Christmas turkey god damn it!
This past week has been especially sobering watching the first, in my line of sight, house be demolished.
Bulldozers. Lurking. Destroying a home, a house, memories, mold, watermarks and that obligatory doorway where one measures the kids heights every year. How dare these alien looking creatures take half a day to demolish a lifetime? The least they could do is not scare the money out of us.
The edge of our yard had been rebuilt to its original height. The shore restored with river rocks. Some not yet grown grass planted. Everyone on this road has asked me why I didn't raise the soil grading 10ft or 4ft or 20ft or 683ft higher??? Wouldn't I be safer against the river?
Because, the fat lady will decide, not I.
I have my boots, and I know how to use them.
Things have changed. The post part 'em flood is not still waters any longer.
Men and women in trade trucks come down the road by the dozen every single day. Septic tanks replacements, french drains, new siding, rebuilt driveways, dry wall, insulation...All sorts of experts. We give them all our money in a crazed fashion hoping to appease the river and ground water levels. Hoping to erase what cannot ever be unknown again. Querying, asking, pleading to turn back the clock and do whatever it takes to make our abodes and lives as they were pre flood.
The river is at its highest it has ever been in November. For some reason, instead of waiting until next Spring for a just in case scenario, the need to do it now is akin to needing air. There is a driving force behind the flood refugees and no logic can stop them. Second and third mortgages, government helped, family bankrolled, co-signers up the wazoo - doesn't matter, winter is knocking and homes are where you cook the Christmas turkey god damn it!
This past week has been especially sobering watching the first, in my line of sight, house be demolished.
Bulldozers. Lurking. Destroying a home, a house, memories, mold, watermarks and that obligatory doorway where one measures the kids heights every year. How dare these alien looking creatures take half a day to demolish a lifetime? The least they could do is not scare the money out of us.
The edge of our yard had been rebuilt to its original height. The shore restored with river rocks. Some not yet grown grass planted. Everyone on this road has asked me why I didn't raise the soil grading 10ft or 4ft or 20ft or 683ft higher??? Wouldn't I be safer against the river?
Because, the fat lady will decide, not I.
I have my boots, and I know how to use them.
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