Goodbye Irene
Yesterday, August 28th at 2pm, I listened from my window to the water rushing below us along the Whetstone Brook. The dog was aching to get out into the storm, so I pulled on my raincoat and headed for the door.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw as we loped down Crosby St. in a veil of steady rain. What we call a brook was now a raging river. It stopped me dead in my tracks. Bear did her business and we hurried back up the hill to the house.
There, Stephen and our friend Rita (rescued from her own flooded home in Guilford) both jumped from their chairs to see something "really amazing...you have to come now!" Back we went, down the hill, along with other small groups of curious neighbors. Before you could even see the water, you heard it. The roar of water crashing over the banks up into the steeply wooded embankment was awesome. Halfway down the hill, we stopped and gawked as a large tree was dislodged from its purchase on the bank and thrown like a toy into the roil. My heart was beating hard as we walked down the hill to see how the bridges were handling the water, going 30, 40, 50 miles per hour... moving faster than seems possible, down into the town of Brattleboro below. We all began to hear a rumbling noise, like thunder in the distance. And then we began to realize this wasn't thunder from the sky. It was large boulders beneath the surface of this fearsome river, smashing into each other, cracking and rolling along like pieces of rubble. This was a sound like no other we had ever heard.
Not long after, the road was closed. The banks were breached on lower Williams St, leaving many homes stranded by rising water. One of the bridges lost part of its pavement. An old renovated warehouse was devastated by the rising brook and the debris it brought downstream with it. One of the major streets in town was submerged by the water that could no longer be held by the brook's stream bed. Cars drifted crazily downstream along with lumber, propane tanks, shopping carts and umbrellas. All along its route, people stood, watching and not believing as the water continued to rise.
from MSNBC
Within two hours, the brook had receded by two feet, the rain had stopped, and the sun began to push through the weakening cloud cover. It seemed like it was all a bad dream. Today, the cicadas are zinging, and the sky is that brilliant blue so unexpected yet desired. Here in our town the day after the flood, late summer shadows select new spots to dance upon while dogs bark, Monarchs fly low to catch the blue aster's nectar and a gentle breeze moves the tree out front, as if nothing ever happened.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw as we loped down Crosby St. in a veil of steady rain. What we call a brook was now a raging river. It stopped me dead in my tracks. Bear did her business and we hurried back up the hill to the house.
There, Stephen and our friend Rita (rescued from her own flooded home in Guilford) both jumped from their chairs to see something "really amazing...you have to come now!" Back we went, down the hill, along with other small groups of curious neighbors. Before you could even see the water, you heard it. The roar of water crashing over the banks up into the steeply wooded embankment was awesome. Halfway down the hill, we stopped and gawked as a large tree was dislodged from its purchase on the bank and thrown like a toy into the roil. My heart was beating hard as we walked down the hill to see how the bridges were handling the water, going 30, 40, 50 miles per hour... moving faster than seems possible, down into the town of Brattleboro below. We all began to hear a rumbling noise, like thunder in the distance. And then we began to realize this wasn't thunder from the sky. It was large boulders beneath the surface of this fearsome river, smashing into each other, cracking and rolling along like pieces of rubble. This was a sound like no other we had ever heard.
Not long after, the road was closed. The banks were breached on lower Williams St, leaving many homes stranded by rising water. One of the bridges lost part of its pavement. An old renovated warehouse was devastated by the rising brook and the debris it brought downstream with it. One of the major streets in town was submerged by the water that could no longer be held by the brook's stream bed. Cars drifted crazily downstream along with lumber, propane tanks, shopping carts and umbrellas. All along its route, people stood, watching and not believing as the water continued to rise.
from MSNBCWithin two hours, the brook had receded by two feet, the rain had stopped, and the sun began to push through the weakening cloud cover. It seemed like it was all a bad dream. Today, the cicadas are zinging, and the sky is that brilliant blue so unexpected yet desired. Here in our town the day after the flood, late summer shadows select new spots to dance upon while dogs bark, Monarchs fly low to catch the blue aster's nectar and a gentle breeze moves the tree out front, as if nothing ever happened.
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