Sarah Nigbor

I feel for the people living along the Mississippi and St. Croix rivers who are affected by the flooding. A drive along the Great River Road last week was eye-opening. Homes and businesses in many places are surrounded by water. The road to the Bay City Village Campground was completely underwater and the Woodshed looked like an island.

While I’ve never lived along the Big Muddy, I do know what having a home flood is like.

Many years ago, my husband and I lived in a rental house along Goose Creek in Beldenville. It was a tri-level with the kitchen and living room on the main floor, two bedrooms and a bathroom up a half-story and an unfinished basement down a half-story. I’ll forever be grateful that I never put a thing in that basement.

My husband worked road construction so he was gone most of the summer. One hot July night as I lay in bed with our two dogs, the heavens let loose with a torrential downpour. I was convinced the roof was going to give at some point, it was coming down so hard. It was fast and furious; soon the thunder rolled away and the lightning flashes faded. Close to dawn I fell asleep. I later learned close to 7 inches of rain had fallen that night.

When I woke in the morning, I opened the bedroom door and the dogs ran down the half-flight of stairs into the living room. As I followed them, I didn’t hear their toenails clicking on the hardwood floor; instead I heard splashing. My living room had a good six inches of water in it, which meant the basement was completely submerged.

I looked out the window and the dogs at the kennel business next door were swimming in their yard. Our propane tank had come loose and was floating down the driveway. Where once had been a yard was a lake. Goose Creek had overrun her banks and turned the area into a sea of debris. My Jeep was on an island, surrounded by water on all sides.

I called my family and soon vehicles were pulling into the yard filled with people wanting to help. I had to ferry people from the end of the driveway in my husband’s truck to the house, because the water was too deep for cars. My grandparents, mom and cousins were soon on the scene with fans, wet vacs and mops. We hauled every stick of furniture up the stairs to the second level where it could start to dry out. As the waters from the flash flood slowly receded, a slimy, muddy, watery mess was left behind.

The landlord ended up having to replace our floors and some of the drywall due to the flooding, which took months. The furnace and air conditioner had to be replaced as well, along with the propane tank. I vowed then and there I would never again live near a body of water unless I was on way higher ground. Mud was coming out of places I didn’t even know existed for weeks after the flood. We eventually moved out of the house when we found mold growing in the walls. The house is now vacant and being overtaken by trees.

I’ll forever be grateful to my family for dropping everything and rushing to help me that day. Though it was terrible, I have cherished memories of my 89-year-old grandpa on his hands and knees with the wet vac (he was stubborn and wanted to do it), of my cousin Mandy keeping me laughing as we hauled furniture, and of my mom working far into the night to help me clean. I hope they knew how I grateful I was.