Whoooooosh
*clap clap* Anybody here remember the summer of 1993? I was eleven, almost twelve. That summer is one long, sandy, sweaty, blistery (and oh! let's not forget rainy) semi-blur of a photograph in my memory. I remember how all of the sandbag levees we built ultimately failed against the river(s). (Don't go placing all the blame on me, though.) I remember getting yanked out of bed on a Saturday morning to watch an entire town get swept away by an angry mob of water on TV. I remember cameras and commentators trained on a poor lone man trapped in about five feet of a fast-moving current and rescuers trying their damnedest to close in on him.
The summer of 1993 brought a 500-year flood to St. Louis and points in every direction. Now that the national media has finally seized upon our predicament here, all you out-of-towners probably know that much of Iowa is experiencing a 500-year flood of its very own. Whoopee!
For all those concerned, I'm safe, far enough north of the Cedar River; there's a creek close to my place but it's at the bottom of a hill (and I'm near the top). I suppose there's a chance it could flood to the point it could inconvenience me, or worse, but so far it hasn't happened yet. The last time it ran over its banks it did so in a baseball field downstream. But getting around the rest of the city (and out of it) is a going to be a giant pain in the ass for a long while. Downtown CR is flooded, to the point where only one bridge over the Cedar River is open. Sandbag forts as tall as me have been constructed. The river is expected to crest about three to four feet over the record.
A railroad bridge washed away in Waterloo yesterday. Downriver in Iowa City, the Iowa River isn't even expected to crest until next Friday and the University is already in danger of flooding -- one major artery in and out of the city has been closed for several days. Driving I-380 over the Iowa River/Lake McBride has made me squirm in my seat because the water is so close to the bridge decks.
And it was expected to storm several inches of rain tonight -- right at the top of the Des Moines and Cedar River Basins.
As for Des Moines, water breached the top of the emergency spillway at Saylorville Res last night -- and the river is rising faster and higher than originally forecasted. Whoops. It doesn't look like the damage to Des Moines will be as bad as in 1993, but the river level is still expected to flirt dangerously with the record set back then. Downtown is flooded because the storm sewers backed up onto the streets.
Not even experiencing 1993 set up my mind for this, especially now that I'm on the other side. It's probably one of the few times in which TV-news hype is entirely warranted -- because yes, it IS as bad as we're making it sound. Tonight (well... last night) I came home from my first of many 11-hour shifts. My brain is hash (the kind you cook in a pan, geez people) to say the least. I've no doubt the reporters in St. Louis felt the same way 15 years ago, after pulling the same shift or longer. Part of me wishes I could be out in the fray, helping out in a way that feels more tangible, even if the levees fail. The other part feels a strong sense of duty toward the job I've got, often just as grueling, even if it takes place at a desk.
But not one part of me wants to chase down a live shot like the ones I saw that Saturday morning, standing in the living room in a red and white cotton nightshirt, while our TV framed the roaring death of a whole town, and pinpointed the despair of one man who didn't want to die, not that morning, not in that water, especially not with a camera watching him.
The summer of 1993 brought a 500-year flood to St. Louis and points in every direction. Now that the national media has finally seized upon our predicament here, all you out-of-towners probably know that much of Iowa is experiencing a 500-year flood of its very own. Whoopee!
For all those concerned, I'm safe, far enough north of the Cedar River; there's a creek close to my place but it's at the bottom of a hill (and I'm near the top). I suppose there's a chance it could flood to the point it could inconvenience me, or worse, but so far it hasn't happened yet. The last time it ran over its banks it did so in a baseball field downstream. But getting around the rest of the city (and out of it) is a going to be a giant pain in the ass for a long while. Downtown CR is flooded, to the point where only one bridge over the Cedar River is open. Sandbag forts as tall as me have been constructed. The river is expected to crest about three to four feet over the record.
A railroad bridge washed away in Waterloo yesterday. Downriver in Iowa City, the Iowa River isn't even expected to crest until next Friday and the University is already in danger of flooding -- one major artery in and out of the city has been closed for several days. Driving I-380 over the Iowa River/Lake McBride has made me squirm in my seat because the water is so close to the bridge decks.
And it was expected to storm several inches of rain tonight -- right at the top of the Des Moines and Cedar River Basins.
As for Des Moines, water breached the top of the emergency spillway at Saylorville Res last night -- and the river is rising faster and higher than originally forecasted. Whoops. It doesn't look like the damage to Des Moines will be as bad as in 1993, but the river level is still expected to flirt dangerously with the record set back then. Downtown is flooded because the storm sewers backed up onto the streets.
Not even experiencing 1993 set up my mind for this, especially now that I'm on the other side. It's probably one of the few times in which TV-news hype is entirely warranted -- because yes, it IS as bad as we're making it sound. Tonight (well... last night) I came home from my first of many 11-hour shifts. My brain is hash (the kind you cook in a pan, geez people) to say the least. I've no doubt the reporters in St. Louis felt the same way 15 years ago, after pulling the same shift or longer. Part of me wishes I could be out in the fray, helping out in a way that feels more tangible, even if the levees fail. The other part feels a strong sense of duty toward the job I've got, often just as grueling, even if it takes place at a desk.
But not one part of me wants to chase down a live shot like the ones I saw that Saturday morning, standing in the living room in a red and white cotton nightshirt, while our TV framed the roaring death of a whole town, and pinpointed the despair of one man who didn't want to die, not that morning, not in that water, especially not with a camera watching him.