I'm driving, driving, the sky is dark
with clouds, lit with lightening, and the night is alive with
memories, remembering another dark and stormy night.
Imagine driving down the interstate, it
being raised on a slight embankment, and instead of seeing earth all
around, covered with crops as it would normally be, there is only
water, with here and there the tops of trees or lonely buildings
poking above it.
We were told of another emergency
shelter that we could stay in that night, only, as we get near to
where our exit is, there's still water on both sides of the road, and
as far as we can tell the whole town is under water. So we drive on
into the gathering night, yet another storm comes, blessing the earth
with water it does not need. Lightening flashes and all we can see
around us is water, water everywhere. A few times as we've been
traveling, there have been places where water has made it up to the
embankment upon which the interstate is built and we slowly,
cautiously creep across it (thankfully oftentimes there is a car in
front of us so we can see that you are able to cross safely). The
lightening flashes yet again and to left, over the fields of water,
it appears a funnel cloud is forming. Thankfully it doesn't touch
down, but it spooked us even more in an already stressful situation.
I think this is the night we decide to
stay at a hotel, somewhere on higher ground, where we feel safe from
the lurking horrors of the night.
Another day, another drive. We are
making a delivery of blankets for the Red Cross over the Illinois
border. The National Guard is in the process of rescuing and
evacuating a flooded town and as it has been most days for a few
weeks, it is rainy.
We drive around “Road Closed” signs
and, again, drive over some small rivers of water. At one point our
road is circling around a large hill and when we look down in the
valley, where you would normally see cows or horses grazing, we see
not one but two large barges towing other barges, lazily chugging
around the valley in order to escape the raging Mississippi which
refuses to stay in its banks.
Another night, another storm. We are
sleeping in the tiny town hall of a tiny town. The building serves as
post office, school, community center, as well as town hall.
We are awakened from sleep because the
National Guard, whom we have been helping to build a wall around the
the town, is pulling out because the sky is falling again and they
think this is a losing battle. While we have rested the Guards we
have worked with have been replaced with others, who did not know our
vehicles have been left on higher ground and that we need a ride. New
orders are issued, new logistics figured out and, after saying a few
hurried goodbyes to the townspeople who still refuse to leave, we
climb aboard to sit in back of a military transport which is designed
to hold 30 instead of I and my 2 companions (our leader is up front
guiding the Guard to the small church where we parked, where we hope
the water hasn't reached).
The canvas in back is left open and,
because these vehicles are so big, they not only go on roads which
have a few shallow rivers flowing over them, but plow over roads that
are completely submerged. So our view from the back is sometimes more
eerie than ever, the whole world is made of water, even that upon
which we travel, with here and there a tree or the top of a building
poking up.
In 2010-2011 I was a part of the
Americorps Saint Louis Emergency Response Team and I and 3 others
where a part of responding to the Southern Missouri Floods where we
help the National Guard fill sandbags, helped the Red Cross however
they needed us, and assisted a town in coordinating their volunteer
efforts. It was a surreal time but I met some amazing people and
worked with some amazing people.
Oh, and the residents who refused to
leave where able to keep their town hall from flooding. The Guard had
built a wall around the entire town, but the water breached it. But,
their hall was the heart of the town and in their saving it the
residents saved their hearts and many of them returned after the
waters had receded (though, depending on who you talk to, that may or
may not have been unwise).