I've never lived in a town facing a serious crisis. Until now.
Our city is facing a flood. The Iowa River is spilling its banks, and the Army Corps of Engineers has projected that the reservoir and dam that control the amount of water flowing into the river will reach their overflow point sometime later this week. Water will breach the spillway and pour into the already swollen river.
Yesterday, for the first time this spring, officials said the words no one wanted to hear: "The flooding is expected to reach levels that could be as high, if not higher, than 1993."
The flood of '93 is one that people around here seem to mention nearly every time we get a hard rain. It was the same flooding that plagued communities up and down the Mississippi River and its tributaries.
So far, a few streets have been closed, everyone's favorite park -- including the Shakespeare theatre -- is under water, our bike path has been covered, and sandbag barriers surround buildings all along the river, including several on campus. We're not personally threatened. That is, our home is safe from flood water. But some in our community are in harm's way, and we ache for them during their struggles.
Tim and I grabbed a couple shovels and headed out earlier this afternoon to help with the sandbagging. We joined a group of Mennonites -- including several women in their skirts and little lace headcoverings -- to help protect, of all things, a pub. It's a local institution and took quite a hit in '93. We also took a drive up to the res and climbed up the spillway to join dozens and dozens of fellow gawkers, checking out the water level, which appeared disturbingly close to those of us standing atop that wall of concrete. The nearby beach is about 8 feet under. We could see only the top of the roof of the public restrooms.
And as I write this, I'm watching weather warnings on TV. Tornadoes to the north of us. More predictions of torrential rain possibilities tonight.
It doesn't look good. Not at all.
Our city is facing a flood. The Iowa River is spilling its banks, and the Army Corps of Engineers has projected that the reservoir and dam that control the amount of water flowing into the river will reach their overflow point sometime later this week. Water will breach the spillway and pour into the already swollen river.
Yesterday, for the first time this spring, officials said the words no one wanted to hear: "The flooding is expected to reach levels that could be as high, if not higher, than 1993."
The flood of '93 is one that people around here seem to mention nearly every time we get a hard rain. It was the same flooding that plagued communities up and down the Mississippi River and its tributaries.
So far, a few streets have been closed, everyone's favorite park -- including the Shakespeare theatre -- is under water, our bike path has been covered, and sandbag barriers surround buildings all along the river, including several on campus. We're not personally threatened. That is, our home is safe from flood water. But some in our community are in harm's way, and we ache for them during their struggles.
Tim and I grabbed a couple shovels and headed out earlier this afternoon to help with the sandbagging. We joined a group of Mennonites -- including several women in their skirts and little lace headcoverings -- to help protect, of all things, a pub. It's a local institution and took quite a hit in '93. We also took a drive up to the res and climbed up the spillway to join dozens and dozens of fellow gawkers, checking out the water level, which appeared disturbingly close to those of us standing atop that wall of concrete. The nearby beach is about 8 feet under. We could see only the top of the roof of the public restrooms.
And as I write this, I'm watching weather warnings on TV. Tornadoes to the north of us. More predictions of torrential rain possibilities tonight.
It doesn't look good. Not at all.
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