A Year Later

A year ago Memorial Day weekend I stood outside my parents’ house and listened to Dad tell us a flood was coming, and it was going to be huge, bigger than anything in our recent history.  I was here for the Flood of ’93, but other than knowing that my new-Sheriff-Dad was dealing with crazy hours and stress, my 15-year-old self wasn’t tremendously affected.  Last year, I heard Dad’s words but didn’t fully comprehend what it would mean to our county and our region.

I-29, Shelton Fireworks - Looking West from Bluffs - June 27, 2011

Looking West on Hwy 136 - June 27, 2011

It was indeed huge.  We were flooded in some instances for 4 months.  To the North, the Interstate was closed. Traffic was re-routed through secondary highways, through towns that weren’t remotely prepared for that kind of volume.  To the West lies the Missouri river, and obviously, there was no way to cross.  Hosts of families living on this side of the river had someone in their household who worked on the other side.  Most stayed apart from their families through the week and came home on weekends.  Others made the multiple-hour commute every day so that they could see their kids.  Families who lived on the bottoms were displaced for months.

Last summer and early fall, all I felt was gloom and doom and hopelessness.  I sat in shocked sadness, watching all that cropland sit underwater.  I saw businesses lay off employees and leave.  I would look through my office’s ‘all about Atchison County’ website, and I kept landing on the page where we brag about everything we have access to (barge, interstate, rail, nearby airports) that were essentially eliminated during the flood.  I was worried about what we would look like on the other side of this thing…whenever that happened.

Then, little by little, week by week, things started to change.  The importance of our existing local businesses became even more important.  My office did a little “Shop Local, we’re all in this together!” campaign, something that we created because we were desperate to do something, anything, to help.  I don’t know if it made a huge difference in sales taxes or not, but it was a reminder sign in the newspapers and in stores all over the county we are responsible for our communities and for supporting each other. 

I-29, Shelton Fireworks - Looking West from Bluffs - June 14, 2012

Roads opened up and repairs began.  Construction on our levees and roads brought newcomers to our county who are still shopping, eating, and staying here.  Since early this year, a massive wholesale water construction project has been underway, bringing even more visitors and workers here.

Looking West on Hwy 136 - June 14, 2012

Businesses that had temporarily closed have reopened and others have been able to bring their regular numbers of employees back on board.  Most all of our businesses were able to persevere, and while last year will not go down in the books as an easy or profitable one, they made it.  A few, like the campground, have not reopened yet due to the severity of the damage, but they are now starting their long road of recovery.

A year later, there’s good news to be found if you look around.  The vast majority of families who were displaced during the flood chose to relocate elsewhere in the county.  The mild winter we experienced allowed road and levee repairs to start much sooner than anticipated.  While some farmers continue to deal with significant sand issues on their land, many have planted and are back in their fields.  The tax base has held, far better than I anticipated.  And regardless of how people feel about the Corps, they have done a tremendous job restoring our levees.

The bottom line in all this is, we ‘made it’ this far largely because of the kind of people we are here.  We pull together in catastrophe.  We help our neighbors.  We work together to get things done.  I’ve said it before and I’ll surely say it again, but in good times and in bad, I am so proud to be a part of this county and these people.  

~MMB

Overwhelming Goodness

It’s been an up and down kind of summer in Atchison County. We’ve had celebrations to commemorate a church’s anniversary and our country’s birthday. We’ve hosted an incredible air show. We’ve played softball, volleyball, baseball, and splashed in the city pools. We’ve gardened and barbequed and chased fireflies. But we’ve also been battling a relentless flood.

On Memorial Day, I learned that water was coming, and that it was going to be “as bad or worse than ’93.” Yikes. Dread, fear and concern began leaking in around the edges of our collective subconscious, but those feelings were secondary to the need to act, and those of us who had something to do were thankful. For two different weeks in June, my office coordinated meals and such for two sandbagging operations, which involved running ice and beverages when needed and spending oodles of time discussing details with volunteers.

For me, those weeks were overwhelming for several reasons. First, it was a different kind of work than I was used to, a constant commotion of thinking talking planning doing, moving from task to task, location to location. Second, it was emotionally difficult to see the water creep into MY county, with every intention of staying for months. It was violating, offensive. Simultaneously, I was overcome with rage and an oppressive feeling of helplessness.

The last kind of overwhelming was yet another reason why I love this place, and why I grew up trusting in the decency of others: good people live here. One day, I would be working with church ladies, veteran women who didn’t flinch when I called at the last minute to say, ‘Um…we’re going to need meals for 75, not 50 like we discussed.” The next day, I would talk to an individual who had purchased enough ingredients to feed an army and was ready with her assembly line of friends to throw sandwiches together at any minute. Another day, a local business volunteered to feed not only one site, but both, and delivered a bbq spread like none other. One day, I couldn’t find enough meals for what we needed, so a busy mom hit the pavement and requested donations from businesses in the area. Those businesses, by the way, were immediately and seriously impacted by the flood – still, they gave.

My work was insignificant compared to what others were taking on. I wasn’t one of the amazing volunteers who lived at the sandbag-filling site every day, physically tying sandbags or helping out behind the scenes wherever needed. I was not one of the people stacking those sandbags on a levee in the unforgiving, unyielding sun. I wasn’t spending hours working with state and federal organizations to make things happen. But still, even I got calls and emails of encouragement from cheerleaders in the community. I built the kind of in-the-trenches friendships that only happen in times of crisis. And I was able to see, day in and day out, the caliber of people that are committed to living here.

It’s been an up and down summer here. We’ve worked and we’ve wept, but we’ve also Lived every time we had the opportunity. We’ve had endless discussions about who caused this flood; it’s an understandable reaction, a need to assign blame and to determine who should be held accountable for this disaster. But personally, I don’t spend much time thinking about that. It's too big, too far out of my control, and it feels almost irrelevant to my focused, 'it's here, now how do we fix it and move forward' mindset. I am concerned about where our county will be on the other side of this – but this summer I have witnessed our citizenry’s capacity for generosity and diligence and hard work, and I know that no matter what comes next, there’s no group of people I’d rather be standing with.

~MMB