Go ahead. Breathe that sigh of relief.
The flood is "officially" over.
Yesterday, the Iowa River inched below its 22-foot flood stage for the first time in a month.
Somehow, for some strange reason, I can't seem to get myself in a celebratory mood. The water may be receding like a middle-aged man's hairline, but what is left behind makes me want to weep. The odor of rotting fish and raw sewage. The sight of pile after pile of ripped-apart, water-logged drywall and giant Dumpsters trucked in to take it away. Those white protective masks, slapped against pensive, stressed-out faces of people who have lost their lives and livelihoods to an act of nature and cruel fate.
It's not like the water's completely gone, either. It still covers a main thoroughfare, various ditches, and our entire city park. Engineers still won't let us drive on Park Road Bridge because they think it might be structurally compromised. The river still runs across much of my bike path -- that is, where it hasn't already receded and left a giant sandbar behind.
And I'd advise that no one be too quick to haul off the sandbags. It stormed last night, and rain's in the forecast for eight of the next ten days. I'd like to think the rain would wash away the river scum and bad memories, but I still can't forget how we got here in the first place.
The flood is "officially" over.
Yesterday, the Iowa River inched below its 22-foot flood stage for the first time in a month.
Somehow, for some strange reason, I can't seem to get myself in a celebratory mood. The water may be receding like a middle-aged man's hairline, but what is left behind makes me want to weep. The odor of rotting fish and raw sewage. The sight of pile after pile of ripped-apart, water-logged drywall and giant Dumpsters trucked in to take it away. Those white protective masks, slapped against pensive, stressed-out faces of people who have lost their lives and livelihoods to an act of nature and cruel fate.
It's not like the water's completely gone, either. It still covers a main thoroughfare, various ditches, and our entire city park. Engineers still won't let us drive on Park Road Bridge because they think it might be structurally compromised. The river still runs across much of my bike path -- that is, where it hasn't already receded and left a giant sandbar behind.
And I'd advise that no one be too quick to haul off the sandbags. It stormed last night, and rain's in the forecast for eight of the next ten days. I'd like to think the rain would wash away the river scum and bad memories, but I still can't forget how we got here in the first place.
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