Vol. 1, Issue 6
On Saturday, my little family sat down for a pizza dinner as rain drizzled outside. By the time we were finished, I noticed water pooling in the park next to our house. Minutes later, I was shouting for my husband as the water began to race through our yard.
The flood pounded against our garage door and seeped through the cracks and secret holes of our 90-year-old house. We lost power, and my husband carried a tiny flashlight with him into the basement to rescue a drum kit and boxes of sentimental items. By then, the water was to his ankles.
My car was trapped in the garage, and as the water kept rising, I prepared myself to lose it. I watched, helpless, as our garbage bin was toppled and spun like a grotesque boat trapped in the eddy that was once our driveway. Our backyard fence was flattened as the water roared toward the culvert that runs the length of our neighborhood. My daughter’s slide and other toys were carried away. Heavy concrete planters were toppled, the flowers ripped out. From the top of the stairs, we could hear the sickening stream of water filling the basement like a bathtub. (Click here to watch a short video of my backyard during the storm.)
Then, just as suddenly as the water rushed in, it was gone. The rain continued, but the swollen river became a trickle and finally disappeared entirely. It left us a monumental mess, both literal and emotional. As we surveyed the basement and the yard, we were, above all, grateful. Just before dinner, the three of us had been down on the backyard patio, watching the rain. But thankfully, when the flood came, we were upstairs and out of harm’s way. Miraculously, both of our cars survived and none of the debris in the water caused any major structural damage to the house.
After the water receded, I found an empty red pot in the backyard and lamented the loss of our money tree, a gift from a friend. But then several feet away, wedged against our flattened fence, I found the lucky little tree, root ball and all. The water didn’t give back everything, but it didn’t take nearly as much as it could have. Days later, we are still cleaning and piecing things back together, but as the immediate panic of the flood subsides, I’m left with a deep sense of awe toward the power and randomness of large storms.
Claudette, a French name with an odd etymology that either means “lame” or “enclosure.” Claudette, an underrated tropical storm that killed fourteen people across Alabama and flooded my town to a degree not seen since the 1970s. It’s a lame irony, perhaps, that the week before Claudette, I’d started sketching out a novel about a storm chaser and a flooded town. Eventually, after our cleanup is complete, I’ll swim my way back to it.
At least now I know what the name of my fictional storm will be.
Listen
Today’s soundtrack:
Read
The 10 Most Apocalyptic Floods in Art, The Guardian
“From photographs of Hurricane Katrina to Monet’s impressionistic wasteland, these deluged landscapes capture the destructive power of nature.”Hurricane Katrina and Its Metaphors, Chicago Magazine
“Disasters are, most basically, terrible, tragic, grievous, and no matter what positive side effects and possibilities they produce, they are not to be desired. But by the same measure, those side effects should not be ignored because they arise amid devastation … Disasters provide an extraordinary window into social desire and possibility, and what manifests there matters elsewhere, in ordinary times and in extraordinary times.”
Watch
The Tale of Tiddalick, the frog who caused a global drought and then laughed and flooded the world:
Toronto artists turned flood driftwood into a large public sculpture:
First/last words
Floods occupy a deep, primal place in our collective imagination. Flood stories contain the duality of destruction and survival: the rest of the world may be destroyed, but at least one person survives to tell the tale, and in that survival lies hope for the renewal of all humankind.
Most of us probably think of Noah’s ark as the first flood in recorded literature. But in fact, the oldest-written creation story, the Sumerian Eridu Genesis, includes a section about a worldwide flood and the survivors of that event — including Ziusudra, who saved small animals on his boat and went on to repopulate the Earth. The cuneiform tablet on which the Eridu Genesis was carved is a thousand years older than the Bible’s Book of Genesis. Here’s part of the story:
The Flood
[132’f] All the evil winds, all stormy winds gathered into
one and with them, the Flood was sweeping over the cities of the half-bushel baskets,
for seven days and seven nights.
After the flood had swept over the country,
after the evil wind had tossed the big boat about on the great waters,
the sun came out spreading light over heaven and earth.
As you find your way to the page this week, I invite you to consider the flood as a starting point — a creation story — rather than as a destructive end.
Connect
You can find Sandra on Twitter, Instagram, and at sandrabarnidge.com. As always, thank you for being here.