October 9, 2024
Thinking about Helene: The aftermath
The summer had been dry, and we were needing rain. The grass was brown and crunchy in places. The ground was hard-packed and cracked. Even the big rocks in the streams and rivers were parched. So, we were glad to see the slow rains that came in the days before Helene.
Those first two days of slow and steady rain refreshed the green in the fields and brought the creeks and rivers back to a more normal flow. I could hear the voice of the creek on our property for the first time in months. On the third day the rain continued more heavily. The creeks and the rivers were rising now, some of them moving more rapidly and threatening to come out of their banks.
Then, Helene moved in. The dry ground was now saturated. The thirsty streams, and creeks, rivers, ponds, and lakes had swollen. There was no place for the storm water to go but down hill.
The rain fell throughout the region without ceasing. As it filled every low-lying spot it gained volume and momentum and rushed toward the next lower spot. Pause a moment and think about thirty inches of rainfall in hours.
The flow of that water became an Olympic runner going for gold down the mountains, rushing into rivers that had suddenly outgrown the channels they had comfortably navigated for eons. The smaller rivers swelled and gained power rushing to find the next larger one. As they joined forces, they gained strength. All that newfound power had no sense of itself and lifted houses off foundations and moved them downstream like bathtub toys. It folded boxcars around the concrete pilings on bridges. It ripped out highways and tossed cars, trucks, and tractors like a toddler in a tantrum.
With no other place to go, the water rose. Neighborhoods became lakes with the peaks of housetops peeking out like islands. Automobiles tumbled with trees and trailers and barns into massive tangles carried by unprecedented force that took out bridges and buildings rushing toward lakes and reservoirs. The force of all that water rushing downhill carved away the earth along the banks, pulled away the solid ground upon which houses once stood, ate away the roadbeds and spit out pavement and concrete leaving those who survived no way out.
Some may think the water was the worst of it all, especially when you saw the images of homes and towns submerged the morning after. And, clearly, that flooding was catastrophic and life-altering. Life-ending for many.
But the debris. Consider for a moment, everything caught up in the power of that water upstream was carried in the flow until it hit an immovable object or reached a place where the water spread out, a lake or a reservoir. All that debris changed the landscape leaving everything almost unrecognizable.
A low-lying town may now be a collection of giant root balls, mangled campers, splintered trailers, crumpled-mud-covered-vehicles, bits of furniture, random hot tubs, bicycles, toys, and mud. Mud piled several feet deep that may hold the bodies of those who didn't escape miles upstream.
Large lakes and reservoirs are now the repositories of everything that flowed through to the end.
God bless the survivors. Imagine in the rush of getting out, knowing you must get to higher ground. Safety is your singular focus. Save the lives of your loved ones. Just get out. It is not until the waters recede, until the sun shines bright the next day that anyone can begin to think of what has been lost. Family treasures that mean nothing to anyone but those who have lost them. A child's favorite lovey. Photos. Keepsakes. It is not until the morning after that you think of food and water and medicine…and what next?
Dear ones, the outpouring of love and compassion, empathy and assistance has been heartwarming and most impressive. I've done my best to post each day any new information or images that I trust. I am not doing this to flood your FB feed, but to show the vast territory that has been impacted. The news channels have focused on the larger areas, but there are numerous small towns and villages in need as well. I'll continue to share what I can as I gather any new information.
Let us remember the elderly.
Let us remember the little ones who have no sense of what is to come. Our little folks will have nightmares, and fears of thunder and rain. Remember, their experiences are limited but now include this event. Those wee ones have lost their toys, their books, the things that take their imaginations to a new place and help them imagine a better tomorrow.
So many of you have sent essentials to help the people in this region survive. Now, let's help them thrive.
Much love to you all,
Lester