How High is the Water, Mama?

That old Johnny Cash song comes to mind today as we watch the flood levels on the Ohio River.

The Ohio River yesterday evening, when the river was at 28.6 feet

Yesterday while we were working at our Marietta booth we were told by the owner that there is a possibility of water actually getting into the building--about 2 feet of water--if the river rises to worst level currently predicted.

What to do? Nothing, really. We moved a few things to higher locations, but we have so much stuff in that mall that moving it all is just not feasible. Even moving some of it isn't. So we will sit tight and watch the weather and river reports.

In the end, it's just stuff. We have more. We can easily restock if it comes to that. What I dread is the cleanup after a flood. I've done that before, once in Virginia helping victims of Hurricane Agnes in 1972, once once when one of the libraries I oversaw got four feet of water. There is no nastier job, I think--slimy mud and dirt all over everything.

The river as of this morning is at 29.6 feet and rising. If it reaches the predicted height of 41 feet, the mall is safe, but if it reaches the outer possibility predicted of 48 feet, there will be 2 feet of water in the building.

From the National Weather Service website. Click here to view the interactive map.

The problem is that the Ohio drains all the area from the Allegheny mountains to the east to its confluence the Mississippi in the west.

From Wikipedia

As you can see in the above map, the river's basin extends almost to the Great Lakes, and south through Kentucky and Tennessee. And then it joins the Mississippi. The midwest is also getting rain now so that water is coming down the Mississippi and will cause the Ohio to back up even more.
Add in all the other rivers that flow into the Ohio along its route, and there is just a LOT of water all trying to move south.

There is nothing anyone can do about it except wait and watch. And hope that no one loses their home or belongings.

Meanwhile, there's always Johnny Cash...

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

A Day of Wild Weather

Winter is not giving up easily in our hills.

Yesterday we took a little drive to see how high the Ohio River had gotten. I also wanted to go down a road I haven't traveled in years, one that borders the river on the Ohio side.

It was pretty obvious before we even got to the river that there was a LOT of water coming downstream. All the creeks feeding into the river were backed up and overflowing their banks--and we could see that rather than the water flowing out of them, it was backing up into them from the river. Many lower lying fields were inundated, but fortunately we saw no flooded houses.

As we turned down the road I wanted to travel, we saw a sign. "High Water. Road Closed."

"Better turn around," Larry said.

"Let's just go look. Sometimes they don't take those signs down after the water's gone down." Just call me optimistic.

It was pretty clear as we drove along that the water was, if anything, getting higher.

And sure enough:

So we had to turn around and I had to listen to "I told you so." Ha! I didn't mind; I knew the odds were that the road would be blocked, but I wanted to see anyway. This camp along the road had water in a lot of its buildings.

I had to laugh at this sign. I guess it could have been put in a lot of places yesterday!

This is a pretty road, and I still want to drive it to see more of the pretty farmland that borders it. Some other day.

At Ravenswood, we tried to see how deep the river was, but could not quite make out the markings on the bridge.

I took a photo and came home to enlarge it. But silly me, those markings are for the river barges and other river traffic, and show the clearance from bridge to water, not water depth. Duh.

We came on home and unloaded the few things we'd bought while we were out (you know I had to stop at a thrift or two). It was raining again by then, and that was worrying with the water already over roads in many places.

And then this started.

Huge, fat flakes that began sticking almost immediately, and coming down so fast that visibility was minimal.

The hill in the distance was completely invisible in this snowstorm.

It kept up hard and fast for a couple hours, leaving about two inches covering everything. Talk about slush. With the ground so wet, then the snow and a drop in the temperature the sidewalk looked like it had been covered with gray Slurpee. Friends who were caught driving in it reported some very slick conditions. I bet it was. I was thankful to be home.

We built a fire, got out our books, and were cozy as could be the rest of the evening. It began raining again sometime in the evening, and by this morning most of the snow was gone.

I think Spring is trying to make her entrance, but Old Man Winter isn't ready to hibernate yet. Reports are for very warm temperatures this week, and to tell the truth I'd rather it stayed cold to keep the trees and flowers from budding out too soon. But Nature will do what she will do; we're just along for the ride.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Storytelling, Richwood and Clendenin

I've tried to think of ways to help in West Virginia's flooded areas during these weeks since the floods destroyed so many communities, particularly Clendenin, Richwood and Rainelle. I raised money for one young woman who lost everything, sent donations here and there but I'm not wealthy and it felt like so little.

I was also committed to storytelling events so I couldn't go and volunteer either, and honestly I don't know how much help I could have been with my achy legs and feet. Then the mayor of Richwood sent out a call for artists of all kinds to come to Richwood for one day to share some joy and fun. That I could do! I asked my storytelling friends to join me and three from Ohio responded: Thomas Burnett, Mike Kubisek, and musician Jeanie Creamer.

So Saturday we trekked across the state to Nicholas county. Lots of road repair work was going on as the sides of the roads in some places were washed out, or the opposite banks has slipped down into the roads.

Everywhere along the roads were piles of flood debris and household items destroyed by the floodwaters.

This home was damaged by runoff coming off the mountain behind it, tumbling rocks, boulders, dirt and roots into and around the home. Even though it was high above the river, it could not escape the storm's fury.

Just one month ago we sat here in on the patio of this awesome little home-cooking restaurant on the banks of a small creek that feeds into Cherry River. The water came up, under and around the building, all but destroying it. It was sad to see because the owners had really made this into a well-decorated and maintained place with a good reputation for fine food and service.

Downtown Richwood, quiet on Saturday morning.

We didn't really know what to expect; people there are busy with covering survival needs for many residents so details aren't on their minds. We decided to try setting up in the Sculpture Garden in the middle of town, and see how it went. I also got messages on Facebook inviting us to come up to the Fishing Day being offered for children and anyone who wanted to come at nearby Summit Lake, so that was an option if downtown didn't work out.

When we arrived there were hardly any people around. There were still signs of the flood damage everywhere--piles of refuse, appliances, and other household goods unsafe to reclaim. The only action in town seemed to be at the disaster recovery sites and the post office. We parked and waited to see if more people would eventually show up, but after an hour I'd seen only ten people or so, and they were all headed to the post office.

So when our Ohio contingent arrived, we decided to head up to the Fishing Day. They were just setting up, as it turned out, and we picked out a good spot to set up the pop-up canopy. There was a light breeze blowing off the lake, making it pretty comfortable all day.

We had lots of visitors to our tent. We handed out free windmills, fruit, lollipops, snacks and Mike brought tomato and other other plants to give away, figuring people whose gardens might wash out would need them.

Thomas Burnett telling a tale while Mike Kubisek looks on. The puppets were just waiting for their turn!

And we told stories! People came and sat in the folding chairs or stood outside the tent and listened and laughed. We had children, adults, seniors and babies. Some stayed for one story, some for two or three. A few came back to hear more. Many said this was their first time to hear storytelling. Almost everyone thanked us for being there. It was a good, good day.

I came home feeling like at last I'd done something, and with ideas and plans to go back and do more. I made some good connections there that I will follow up on to bring more storytelling to the area. Sometimes it's the thing we do best that we overlook.

How Larry spent the day--fishing in Summit Lake. No luck but he had a good time anyway.

On the way home we stopped by Clendenin.  One of the first things you see as you get off the interstate is this huge mountain of trash, being guarded against scavengers by a police officer.

On the way into town, more signs of the storm:

Debris in the fence attests to how high the water was. The flag still flies though.

This store was almost completely under water.

Photo from WSAZ-TV

A sign as we entered town thanks volunteers.

My husband had not seen it since the flood. I had see some of the town but had not gone all the way to the library because the destruction was just overwhelming. This time much work had been accomplished toward cleaning up the debris. Most destroyed vehicles were gone; many of the mountains of trash were also gone, and the mud had mostly been washed off the streets.

But signs of the flood were everywhere, most noticeably in the empty houses and buildings. Again few people were in town; those we saw were busy cleaning up around their homes. The old downtown itself was virtually deserted. all of those buildings had been under 8-10 feet of water.

The post office, boarded up, windows broken. Where are people getting their mail now, I wonder?

Downtown, no one stirring on a Saturday afternoon.

The library. Ah, the library. It broke my heart to see it.

Yes, I admit, I cried. So much time, love, money and effort had gone into building up this place, expanding it, adding services and it was well-used by people in an area that included parts of three counties.

Broken windows, mud, boarded up and blocked by a piece of equipment. Inside one dirt-splattered  window I could see a small doll, covered in mud and dirt, laying on the windowsill.

In the street were ladybug paper cutouts the library staff used for crafts and bulletin board decor; now they were dirt-covered dots of color on the ground.

Behind the library, the insurance agency and a garage were also destroyed.

 

But across the street the Butterworth community park/garden showed signs of hope. A sign noted that the garden had survived the flood and would be replanted. Already people had donated planters of flowers, and there were bushes and benches. It was spot of beauty and rest, and of determination that somehow this town would recover and find its way back again.

And the Elk River, cause of so much ruin, flows peacefully and unconcerned, back in its banks.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Spring Tides

It was a damp and stormy day today. The humidity was so high I felt like I was breathing underwater this afternoon, a fair sign that storms were on the way. The weather alert radio in my office kept sounding off about "severe thunderstorms" (part of my job is keeping track of weather in case it might affect our services) and such things.

When I left at 5:30 pm, I drove right into the teeth of one or several storms--it was hard to tell because the rain would slack off briefly only to come on strong again. The trip was slow, 40 mph on the interstate because the water could not run off fast enough.

But by the time I reached Joe's Run, the sun was shining and the sky was crystal blue. The only sign of the storms was the water--which was everywhere.

This little creek, known as Poverty Fork, was all over the bottomland as it back up trying to feed into Joe's Run.
Further up the road, the creek had come out of its banks, but then subsided, leaving the road covered in water that was slowly finding its way back to the creek. A small run coming down the hill to the right fed the pond in the road, so it might be a few hours before it settles down.

Through the water and looking back--to see neighbors fording through it too. It was actually not very deep, perhaps 6 inches or so. I crossed through several places like this. On our road, it's not so dangerous to cross the flooded sections because it's usually where the creek came up and went back down, and the ditches are still overflowing. There are places I would not drive through if the water was over the road, but generally there's no problem with most of the areas that tend to flood. We tend to get minor flooding like this most years, sometimes several times a year, because of the steepness of the hills and the ferocity of the storms that hit us first after crossing the flatlands of Ohio.

Then, up the hill we call Kenneth Parrish hill. The runoff was too much for the ditches so the water found its own path downhill.

At home, the sudden sunlight on the damp logs of the house created steam in the nearly tropical air.

But my goodness, do the gardens seem to love it! The green is almost painfully beautiful this evening.

And maybe tomorrow the rains will hold off for our grandson Jared's graduation. That would be nice. Very nice. And dry. Dry is good, after such a wet week.