Iowa´s "500-year" flood washed away buildings and revealed the insoluble spirit of its people
Dan Brawner
June 17, 2008
I´ve been looking at so much water lately, I can hardly bear to fill the kitchen sink. Even though the flood levels are going down in Eastern Iowa, the images of relentlessly rushing water, flowing over streets and homes and businesses remains burned into my mind. The flood forced us to accept an increasingly dismal series of fallback positions, like a line of bursting levees, washing away a little more hope with every breach. First, maybe the water won´t get into the yard and kill the new grass I planted. Then, maybe it will get the grass, but it won´t get into the basement. Then, okay, the basement is flooding, but it won´t get to the first floor. Then, all right, the inside of the house is gone. But maybe we can save the building.
Last week, before officials gave up making predictions on how bad this would be, the flood still seemed like a challenge we could meet. My neighbor, Mark, in Ivanhoe, was working out of town and was worried about his horses and dogs. The horses were already standing knee-deep in water and one dog, a very excitable Jack Russell terrier, was chained to his dog house, only a few yards from the water´s edge. Mark phoned and said, "Just throw a rope over the black horse´s head and lead him to high ground. The others will follow."
Yeah, right. Like I´m suddenly Roy Rogers. But I found a short piece of clothesline, made a loop and waded out into, what was for me, waist-deep (and cold!) brown water. The black horse glared at me. Horses know they don´t have to take orders from a tenderfoot. "It´s okay, boy," I said, as much to myself as to the horse. He let me throw the rope over his head. "Come on," I coaxed, tugging gingerly. He stood firm as that statue of George Washington´s famous mount, Man O´ War. The Jack Russell had begun to yelp and something bumped my ankle. Probably a carp. "Time to go!" I explained to the horse and pulled authoritatively on the clothesline. Then, miraculously, the black horse surrendered to my will and the other horses followed. We got them and the feisty Jack Russell to safety.
Water was rising rapidly. Iowa was out of sandbags. Mark said he could bring some in from Illinois, but by the time he arrived, it was already too late for his place. I could see the water was going to get our rental house so starting at 10 o´clock that night, the tenants and I and some burly guy I don´t even know named Chris and his friend put up about eight tons of sand bags. By the time we finished at midnight, we could see it was futile.
The next day, along with the water, help poured in from friends, family and strangers. Sump pumps, plywood, pickups appeared before our eyes. If heart and human effort could have beaten this flood, we would have prevailed. But we had no chance. The enemy simply overwhelmed us. Thursday night, I had four pumps going full blast. Around 2 a.m. when the water started gushing in, I was almost relieved.
I know this sounds corny but, as the water recedes, I realize I still have tremendous assets worth protecting–and I´m not talking about the house. Neighbors, strangers, people you might not think of as heros, came together for this common purpose. It´s the same story all over the state. The people of Iowa are stronger than any levee. Are we going to rebuild? Of course we are.
Last week, before officials gave up making predictions on how bad this would be, the flood still seemed like a challenge we could meet. My neighbor, Mark, in Ivanhoe, was working out of town and was worried about his horses and dogs. The horses were already standing knee-deep in water and one dog, a very excitable Jack Russell terrier, was chained to his dog house, only a few yards from the water´s edge. Mark phoned and said, "Just throw a rope over the black horse´s head and lead him to high ground. The others will follow."
Yeah, right. Like I´m suddenly Roy Rogers. But I found a short piece of clothesline, made a loop and waded out into, what was for me, waist-deep (and cold!) brown water. The black horse glared at me. Horses know they don´t have to take orders from a tenderfoot. "It´s okay, boy," I said, as much to myself as to the horse. He let me throw the rope over his head. "Come on," I coaxed, tugging gingerly. He stood firm as that statue of George Washington´s famous mount, Man O´ War. The Jack Russell had begun to yelp and something bumped my ankle. Probably a carp. "Time to go!" I explained to the horse and pulled authoritatively on the clothesline. Then, miraculously, the black horse surrendered to my will and the other horses followed. We got them and the feisty Jack Russell to safety.
Water was rising rapidly. Iowa was out of sandbags. Mark said he could bring some in from Illinois, but by the time he arrived, it was already too late for his place. I could see the water was going to get our rental house so starting at 10 o´clock that night, the tenants and I and some burly guy I don´t even know named Chris and his friend put up about eight tons of sand bags. By the time we finished at midnight, we could see it was futile.
The next day, along with the water, help poured in from friends, family and strangers. Sump pumps, plywood, pickups appeared before our eyes. If heart and human effort could have beaten this flood, we would have prevailed. But we had no chance. The enemy simply overwhelmed us. Thursday night, I had four pumps going full blast. Around 2 a.m. when the water started gushing in, I was almost relieved.
I know this sounds corny but, as the water recedes, I realize I still have tremendous assets worth protecting–and I´m not talking about the house. Neighbors, strangers, people you might not think of as heros, came together for this common purpose. It´s the same story all over the state. The people of Iowa are stronger than any levee. Are we going to rebuild? Of course we are.