I'm usually quite proud of my inability to panic - thanks, Y2K - but I have to admit: this week got the best of me. I've never had to deal with a flood before. Not of this magnitude. NEPA weathered Irene just fine, but Lee did us in.
The Susquehanna River floods. Constantly. All the time. Without fail. Since we moved into the area, we've heard story after story about the "Flood of '72," which was caused by Hurricane Agnes and inundated the entire Wyoming Valley. Many of our towns are protected by enormous levees. Agnes is why. I always understood that Agnes was extremely destructive, but I admit: I was seriously disinclined to fall into the hysteria that predictably followed every mention of its name. I thought it was just old people being old people.
But now I understand.
We got the evacuation order Thursday morning. When Bert and I drove over the Pierce Street Bridge the night before, the river was high, but not abnormally so. Not nearly enough to make me – the woman who lived with a swollen Susquehanna practically in her front yard all spring – concerned. So I was kind of annoyed about the whole thing. (At the time, I didn't know they'd already closed the Market Street Bridge and installed the flood gates - something I've never seen them do before.) I couldn’t imagine the peace of mind from leaving would be equal to the emotional pain-in-the-backside caused by crating two cats - yes, Bertie came with us - for a sleepover. But we went. A family that evacuates together, stays together. Lucky for Bertie.
When we drove over the Cross Valley Parkway - the only bridge to stay open through this whole ordeal and (consequently) my new favorite - to our friends' house in Nanticoke, I was utterly and completely shocked. Talk about night and day. In less than a day the river had jumped to the spring watermark, if not higher. I had no idea a river that large could rise twenty-something feet that fast. Suddenly, I was much more gung-ho about getting out of Dodge.
I slept terribly Thursday night, partially because of the cats (Just Nora. Bertie was a dream, if anyone is still interested in adopting her.) and partially because I kept waking up to check the news. Despite the Federal State of Emergency, Bert still had to work the next day (I am writing a letter to the owner of his company. Absolutely inexcusable to needlessly put their employees and the surrounding emergency workers at risk.), so we scooted back into Dodge bright and early the next morning.
The river had crested by that point, but the levees were touch-and-go and the evacuation order was still in place. Our neighborhood was empty and silent - like a zombie movie. I spent an eerie morning watching the news by myself, until about two when I called Bert and told him to come home and rescue me. Yes, I panicked. Totally. The Forty Fort levee (aka my favorite running spot) was in tough shape and I didn't want to be around if it broke. Our apartment is far enough away that we probably would have been alright, but our street flooded up to the second floor during Agnes and I didn't want to be rescued from our neighbor's porch, cats in tow. I am entirely way too young to be that lady.
So my knight in shining armor came home and we evacuated, yet again. We loaded up both cats - although Nora almost missed the ark - and hightailed it for CT. But happily, the levees held. The evacuation order was lifted at 2:30 p.m. today and the water has receded far enough for them to remove the flood gates on Market Street (i.e. quite a bit). Bert should be able to get home tomorrow without any problems and I'll still be able to fly out with my Mozambique team on Wednesday.
The Susquehanna River floods. Constantly. All the time. Without fail. Since we moved into the area, we've heard story after story about the "Flood of '72," which was caused by Hurricane Agnes and inundated the entire Wyoming Valley. Many of our towns are protected by enormous levees. Agnes is why. I always understood that Agnes was extremely destructive, but I admit: I was seriously disinclined to fall into the hysteria that predictably followed every mention of its name. I thought it was just old people being old people.
But now I understand.
We got the evacuation order Thursday morning. When Bert and I drove over the Pierce Street Bridge the night before, the river was high, but not abnormally so. Not nearly enough to make me – the woman who lived with a swollen Susquehanna practically in her front yard all spring – concerned. So I was kind of annoyed about the whole thing. (At the time, I didn't know they'd already closed the Market Street Bridge and installed the flood gates - something I've never seen them do before.) I couldn’t imagine the peace of mind from leaving would be equal to the emotional pain-in-the-backside caused by crating two cats - yes, Bertie came with us - for a sleepover. But we went. A family that evacuates together, stays together. Lucky for Bertie.
When we drove over the Cross Valley Parkway - the only bridge to stay open through this whole ordeal and (consequently) my new favorite - to our friends' house in Nanticoke, I was utterly and completely shocked. Talk about night and day. In less than a day the river had jumped to the spring watermark, if not higher. I had no idea a river that large could rise twenty-something feet that fast. Suddenly, I was much more gung-ho about getting out of Dodge.
I slept terribly Thursday night, partially because of the cats (Just Nora. Bertie was a dream, if anyone is still interested in adopting her.) and partially because I kept waking up to check the news. Despite the Federal State of Emergency, Bert still had to work the next day (I am writing a letter to the owner of his company. Absolutely inexcusable to needlessly put their employees and the surrounding emergency workers at risk.), so we scooted back into Dodge bright and early the next morning.
The river had crested by that point, but the levees were touch-and-go and the evacuation order was still in place. Our neighborhood was empty and silent - like a zombie movie. I spent an eerie morning watching the news by myself, until about two when I called Bert and told him to come home and rescue me. Yes, I panicked. Totally. The Forty Fort levee (aka my favorite running spot) was in tough shape and I didn't want to be around if it broke. Our apartment is far enough away that we probably would have been alright, but our street flooded up to the second floor during Agnes and I didn't want to be rescued from our neighbor's porch, cats in tow. I am entirely way too young to be that lady.
So my knight in shining armor came home and we evacuated, yet again. We loaded up both cats - although Nora almost missed the ark - and hightailed it for CT. But happily, the levees held. The evacuation order was lifted at 2:30 p.m. today and the water has receded far enough for them to remove the flood gates on Market Street (i.e. quite a bit). Bert should be able to get home tomorrow without any problems and I'll still be able to fly out with my Mozambique team on Wednesday.
Whew. What a week. Here are some things I learned:
1. Never buy a house in a floodplain. Even if it's a 100-year floodplain. Even if there's a levee. Because even in the best of times, you will still have expensive flood insurance, a wet basement, and enough anxiety to sink a boat. Head for the hills!
2. Water moves faster than you think it does.
3. The worst part of a flood often comes after the river has crested. (This happened during Katrina as well.) They don't lift evacuation orders after the crest for a good reason. Your levees might be maxed and failing, for example. When they say "pack for three days," pack for three days.
4. The Smith's "Panic" is a really fun song to sing if you substitute the names of Pennsyltucky towns. Try it. "Panic on the streets of Kingston..." (I'd post the video here, but it's a little bizarre. Youtube it, if you'd like to see.)
1. Never buy a house in a floodplain. Even if it's a 100-year floodplain. Even if there's a levee. Because even in the best of times, you will still have expensive flood insurance, a wet basement, and enough anxiety to sink a boat. Head for the hills!
2. Water moves faster than you think it does.
3. The worst part of a flood often comes after the river has crested. (This happened during Katrina as well.) They don't lift evacuation orders after the crest for a good reason. Your levees might be maxed and failing, for example. When they say "pack for three days," pack for three days.
4. The Smith's "Panic" is a really fun song to sing if you substitute the names of Pennsyltucky towns. Try it. "Panic on the streets of Kingston..." (I'd post the video here, but it's a little bizarre. Youtube it, if you'd like to see.)
And here are some things I am thankful for:
1. Levees
2. Friends who are willing to house us AND our neurotic animals.
3. All the EMA workers who kept dumping dirt on the levees when they got soggy.
4. The people who decided to build the levees in the first place.
5. That Bert and I did not rent any other apartments we looked at, most of which weren't protected by the levees and flooded or were a lot closer to harm's way.
1. Levees
2. Friends who are willing to house us AND our neurotic animals.
3. All the EMA workers who kept dumping dirt on the levees when they got soggy.
4. The people who decided to build the levees in the first place.
5. That Bert and I did not rent any other apartments we looked at, most of which weren't protected by the levees and flooded or were a lot closer to harm's way.
And a whole slew of other “what ifs” and “could have beens” that I believe we avoided thanks to a very dear and loving God. I apologize for the lack of photos, formatting, links, and any other sort of pizzazz in this post. I know a lot of these names and places are meaningless to folks out of the area, but it's hard to convey the awesome and awful power of the river without referencing landmarks it did or didn't inundate. A flood is a very humbling thing and it's made me very grateful for God's love and protection over my friends and family. Stuff is just stuff, but it would be hard to replace people. (And cats, for that matter, even though they seem to be popping out of the woodwork. I was so upset when I thought we'd have to leave Nora behind.) Where ever you are tonight, I pray that you are safe, sound, and surrounded by those you love. <3
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