In the aftermath

The sunshine called me to the river this morning. It has not been safe to be near the Grand for several weeks. In the middle of February the river was pretty normal for that time of year, not that 'normal' has applied to the weather patterns this year.

Then the temperatures changed,

and upriver, an ice jam broke loose sending huge chunks of dense ice, water and debris downstream. Suddenly the river downtown looked like this..

(photo above and below courtesy of Heather Roberts)

Flooding was, at one time, an annual occurrence and significant danger if you lived too close to the river, but in the twenty plus years we have lived here, we have never seen damage of this magnitude. The river rose above its high banks and over berms and flood control measures. The volume of water was astonishing and its arrival so swift that there was barely time to evacuate people from their homes. A state of emergency was called and three neighborhoods, involving over 2,000 homes, were taken by bus to safe places. The main bridges over the river were closed as well as the Veterans Parkway, virtually isolating West Brant.

Upriver, the large islands were underwater. It was hard to take in that a sleepy, old river, could overnight rise the number of feet necessary to put this much land underwater. Gives you a tiny taste of the horror experienced in Gulf States.

Access to the Dam and all river paths was barred and being watched by the City. The water was up to just below the viewing platform. The dam itself was underwater and the drop in the river not discernible at all. The roar was deafening and the visible power of the river awe-inspiring, but truly terrifying.

Thankfully, the ice and debris were able to break through and travel downriver. The state of emergency was lifted the next day, the bridges inspected and reopened, and the water level dropped significantly. The banks remained littered with great chunks of ice.

Several days later we drove to a park in West Brant to have a look. My husband posed to give perspective to the size of the ice chunk up on the path. That section of path is atop an 8 ft. riverbank, and the soccer field to the right was underwater just days before. I saw a photo story of a young man who found a big river carp stranded in that field and returned it to the river! 

This sight greeted us as we followed the path towards the forest area. The ice littered the forest to the right quite a ways in. Unbelievable.

I noticed that these trees on the top of the bank bore the scars of the ice passing through. The bark was gone on the side from which the ice traveled, and the second tree was partly uprooted and pushed in that same direction. As I looked across the river, the trees and shrubs by the rivers edge all bore this same band of missing bark. It seemed as though a giant hand had come and scoured the river banks, and that mirrored how my soul sometimes feels; scoured and raw, like my skin was rubbed off. I thought about how life's events mark us. Some leave scars that are visible; some leave obvious debris in its wake; some uproot and strand us, but there is no avoiding pain and loss and change. And those inner wounds have to heal, and there is a scar, and sometimes life's landscape is forever changed

In the meantime, the river continues to flow past, as do the days and so I go out when the sun shines and I find that;

the trees are beginning to bud,

a bunny is visiting the garden,

the deer are gathering,

and the swans are returning.

I see my first sandhill crane off in a field,

 

and a skunk out foraging in a cow pasture,

 On the path, the chickadees are still hungry,

 I see my first chipmunk out enjoying the sun,

 I find I am not alone on the path,

 a raccoon was out wandering

and way across the river in her immense nest sits mama eagle.

And at the dam, I stand in a spot that was under water only days ago, and the river flows by in the sunshine.