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Saturday, May 8, 2010

The Great Flood of 2010

It’s six days after the historic flooding disaster hit Nashville and the surrounding region, but while the floodwaters have subsided considerably in most places, the real trauma has just begun. Three nights ago I flew over the area in a Cessna 182 to view the devastation from the air, and at first it’s hard to comprehend the full extent of the impact on so many individual lives.



The countryside is lush and green, a picturesque mix of farmland edged with trees and forested rolling hills. Quite breathtakingly beautiful in the late afternoon sunlight. The flood-swollen Cumberland River snakes across the broad valley to Nashville’s city skyline, a distant silhouette.

(photo: Cameron Stokes)
In one weekend we received 28% of the year’s annual average rainfall, and it wasn’t long before the Cumberland and Harpeth Rivers, plus all the smaller creeks and tributaries, had reached flood level and burst their banks. Up to 18 inches of rain in many areas. People were taken by surprise across 30 counties as flood waters rose rapidly and surged through basements, houses and buildings, turning the landscape into a wetland and cutting off roads and major interstates. Cars and trucks were swamped and even submerged sitting in traffic on the highways, some washed away in the swift current.

(photo: Cameron Stokes)
Heroic rescues and neighbor helping neighbor filled the news stories, as more than 1000 flood victims sought accommodation in shelters around the state. People lost their homes, their treasured possessions, their livelihood. There were over 900 water rescues!





(Photo: Rick Banning)
My best friends Scott and Julie fled their property (above) as over 4ft water flooded their home, rescuing their animals stranded in the loft while their life possessions swirled in the toxic mix below. The water kept rising in downtown Nashville, turning street after street into a waterway, and it grew worse as buildings began pumping the water from basements and underground parking lots. The Pinnacle Building’s basement was 35 ft under, the Schermerhorn Symphony Center battled 18 ft water in their basement, losing Steinway grand pianos and the famed organ console. Irreplaceable archives were threatened in the Country Music Hall of Fame, and Soundcheck – where around a thousand musicians stored their musical equipment in storage containers – was underwater. Trucking depots with dozens of trucks and trailers full of freight were afloat. Thousands were without power and phone service.
Opryland Hotel, Oprymills, and the Grand Ole Opry (above) evacuated everyone before the entire ground level (over 10ft) was underwater as the flooded Cumberland bled across the landscape.

Cornelia Fort Airport would be better suited to floatplane operations, as planes disappeared in the rising water.

At its peak, the Cumberland rose 20 ft above flood level, threatening to overflow Old Hickory Dam and render the powerful waterway beyond control.

Monday morning I received a phone call that the Wanderin’ Star and the boat dock had been lifted off the mooring poles and both moved out into the lake. In fact the flood moved them along the shore, and as the water began to recede, the boat would soon be left laying on its side immobile. It took our team of Meadows, two friends, a boat and canoe, many hours to rescue both sailboat and dock, but she is now swinging at anchor in the cove, awaiting some repair work on the dock that we miraculously restored to its original mooring.

The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers declared the disaster a 1000 year flood of historic proportions. Probably at least 80% of the victims did not have flood insurance – living in areas not even considered a flood plain. Scott and Julie did not have flood insurance, so like many others, the loss is huge. They had just moved into their new place 3 months ago. Many businesses will go under, the financial loss too great. Opryland alone, which will takes months to recover, will leave several thousand without a job.


Pennington Bend
Flooding is an insidious disaster. You can now drive down streets that just a few days ago were flooded, only the rooftops of houses showing. Today everything looks normal, except for the huge piles of sodden mattresses, furniture, personal belongings, broken drywall and insulation lining the streets. The houses on the outside appear fine. But on the inside they are trashed, destroyed by contaminated water that covered everything. Some things can be saved, but most cannot.

Imagine walking through your own house, and marking a line. Everything below 4 ft will be destroyed or contaminated. It helps you focus on what’s really important in life. It sharpens my own perspective. If I could have Bill back, I would gladly give up everything, cheerfully stand there with nothing by my side but him – an easy, instantaneous choice. How about you? How important are those material possessions? Could you give up everything below the 4 ft line – could you give up your whole house?



My friends and I have walked this past week with Scott and Julie, using every spare moment away from work helping them tear out drywall and insulation, sort through belongings, disinfect and clean what could be salvaged, take truckloads to the dump, and reclaim what we could. They run this endurance race like long distance runners, battling exhaustion, but maintaining good spirits. “Today we throw away our lives,” Julie shared, hiding the depth of loss as they faced the task of going through the sodden piles of truly personal papers, memories and treasured items of a lifetime, much beyond redemption. “We’ll be like honeymooners, starting over. But we have been so blessed. I will always thank the Lord for His goodness." Many others are even less fortunate, and have lost everything.

CNN’s Anderson Cooper arrived in town on Wednesday, stunned at the extent of the devastation, and publicly apologizing for the national media not covering the story before now, preoccupied with the Gulf oil spill and the thwarted terrorist bombing in New York. He is overwhelmed at the volunteer spirit he sees in Tennessee – groups and individuals mobilizing to help those in need on a grassroots level, anxious to do all they can. Organizations pitching in quickly, everywhere people seeing what they can contribute, looking for opportunities to give of time and money and effort. There is very little crime to speak of in the midst of this disaster, virtually no looting. Tennessee is famous for this volunteer attitude, and Cooper has never seen it before.
Pope John Paul II High School, Hendersonville
Over 1500 people gather for the National Day of Prayer at Hendersonville First Baptist – relocated from the Grand Ole Opry that is badly flooded. In spite of the new federal ruling that such an historic day is now contested as unconstitutional, all 50 States in the Union make the declaration to honor it. At times such as this, many realize we need to seek God’s face.

Vietnam Veteran's Blvd
Unlike New Orleans, this region was not built 5 ft below sea level, trusting a levee bank to protect it from a wild ocean surge. Rather than mass entitlement programs, the entrepreneurial spirit is still strong. People don’t sit around waiting for the government to bail them out. They pitch in and help one another. It makes me proud to be a Tennessean.

The music industry, the lifeblood of Nashville, is finding ways to help this city get back on its feet. And for many of them, the personal losses have been devastating. Musicians like Vince Gill, Keith Urban, Brad Paisley and LeAnn Rimes have lost entire collections. The Nashville Symphony is playing a free concert this weekend in the public square. The Grand Ole Opry will return to the Ryman this weekend, and Alan Jackson and Brad Paisley will be performing. The CMA awards in June will donate 100% of the proceeds to flood relief. Volunteer groups are mobilizing across the state. The long road to recovery is just beginning.

Watch this short video for a sensitive rendering of this week’s experience.

More pictures at today’s Tennessean online newspaper: http://www.tennessean.com/apps/pbcs.dll/frontpage




My Dancing Girl

A week ago we buried my little dancing girl, my sweet Saki – our little spirit of light and joy, light as air, wild as a dervish, gentle as a moonbeam. She has graced our home these past 9 years, but I will always see her spirit dancing in the sunlight, returned to her Creator, the source of all life.


As we stood around the sunlit grave close to Bill's oak tree, Tux spontaneously wandered over, explored around the hole, and, prompted by who knows what, braced himself on the edge and leaned in. His head reached down to Saki's - the only part exposed from her little white shroud, and he sniffed her in a farewell kiss. Then he withdrew to the oak tree and lay down in the grass.

Saki arrived on Bill’s birthday, December 10, 2000. Somewhat traumatized by the party and houseful of people, that first night. A little bundle of white fluff edged with chocolate points. Startling blue eyes. Our perfect little Siamese.

When I left on my round-the-world trip to visit family early in 2001, Saki was in the prime of her wildness, Flying around the house, up curtains, across dressers, leaving a trail of chaos in her wake. But she was great comfort to Bill when his sister passed away as he stood by her bedside – and I was half a world away.

Saki soon had a little brother, a cheeky tuxedo kitty who survived her witchery. When Tux could defend himself, they became fast friends, inseparable, intuitively connected. These two irascible felines brought much love and laughter to our home. Tux the sociable greeter, Saki the velvet-soft lover. When Bill passed away just two years ago, Saki took it upon herself to cuddle up with me every night, bringing sweet comfort that filled a void in my broken heart.

I have to admit, she was my favorite little girl. Hard to imagine my sweet little soft, furry girl, so full of love and impudence, has gone. I will miss her running wildly through the house, lapping fresh running water from the kitchen faucet, scampering high into a tree stirred by a sudden gust of wind, and nudging my face to kiss me goodnight with a gentle mew. The days and nights have lost a tender magic.