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It’s taken me a few days to process my feelings, absorb my emotions and consider how 48 hours can change people’s lives.
The events of May 1st and 2nd, 2010 are etched indelibly on my mind, but you might not have heard about the desperation of the situation in my new backyard.
The news from Nashville, Tennessee got pushed far down the list of newsworthy items as the national and cable television networks chose to focus on the failed car bomb attempt in Times Square and the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, leaving people in Nashville and its surrounds angry about the lack of coverage on what was for thousands of people and the local economy a catastrophic situation.
My family survived the worse flooding in Tennessee history. But many were not so lucky. Many lost their lives and many more lost their homes and businesses.
The Army Core of Engineers referred to the record rainfall from the past weekend as a 1,000 year event. A 1,000 year rain event has a 0.1 per cent chance, or a 1 in 1,000 chance, of happening every year.
On Saturday, May 1st a slow moving storm system with humid air from the Gulf of Mexico sat over our area resulting in multiple tornado warnings, thunder and lightening storms, and torrential rain.
It rained through the day and through the next day, dumping a third of the area’s annual total rainfall on the already over-saturated ground – over 13 inches in Nashville and 15 inches in Franklin where I live (a city that’s part of the Nashville Metropolitan Area, approximately 20 miles south of downtown Nashville.) The bottom line was that too much rain fell in too short a time period.
The water swelled in all the major rivers and contributories, and taxed the draining system far beyond capacity causing massive flash floods that spilled over highways, roads, and built-up business areas and residential sub-divisions that were not in the 100-year flood plain.
Numerous residences were evacuated due to the rapidly rising water, and many water rescues took place. People watched in horror and pain as their homes, or businesses were flooded. Everything they had, destroyed in a mere matter of minutes, or hours.
Emergency shelters are filled to capacity and many areas have a drinking water conservation emergency, or have had no power for days due to flooding of treatment plants and sub-stations.
The water damage in downtown Nashville is immense with historical landmarks, tourist attractions, and commercial sectors sitting in up to 10 feet of water. I haven’t even visited some of these buildings yet, and feel an immeasurable wave of sadness.
Gov. Phil Bredesen has asked President Obama to declare 52 of Tennessee’s 95 Counties federal disaster areas. Because many of the homes flooded were outside the 100-year flood plain, people simply didn’t have flood insurance.
We were in the thick of the flooding in my neighborhood. I live on a circle with one main connecting road out of my sub-division. Within hours on Saturday evening a portion of that road overran with water, and the green fields and drainage system that back onto the Harpeth River flooded and became a raging flowing river.
We were trapped in our circle unable to get out by car. You could only wade through the flood water at chest level or kayak out – both highly dangerous.
We watched hopelessly as the rains continued through the night and through Sunday, and the waters spilled over the white picket fences onto the residential roads. Hour-by-hour, water rose up driveways and then into garages and first floors. There were boat evacuations of people from several of the closest roads to our circle and part of our circle that backs onto the fields.
In eight years of living in upstate New York, I was used to large snow falls, and the odd Nor’easter or two, but tornadoes and floods were beyond my range of comprehension and experience, and I was scared – more scared than I’ve ever been in my life.
It was surreal as each hour we came out to check on how far the water had risen and how long before it would come to our house.
We met neighbors we hadn’t seen before at the edge of the rising waters; we were tied together by this unprecedented event, trying to stay calm and even sharing survivor humor – how much food did we have, and could we all pool it?
Faced with the threat of losing our home, great waves of panic washed over me. What do we save? What do we move up to the second floor? When do we start to move the things? Where are our important documents? How much bottled water do we have?
Normally, I don’t subscribe to the “Life Sucks” outlook of life. Life is life and these things happen, but when it does happen to you, your friends and community, it’s hard not to feel that life sucks – we’re only human. When I look at the devastation to the homes around me, now the waters have receded, I’m beyond sad. It’s tragic and that’s just how I feel.
People always say, “It’s just things; it’s people that matter.” I agree that people trump possessions any day, but there’s grief in the loss of irreplaceable things like photographs.
The heavy rains stopped on Sunday around 5.00 PM. And this turn of events was the good fortune that saved our house. The water had risen to five houses away. We breathed a massive sigh of relief as the flood water held, and then started to recede in the wee hours.
Monday was the day of reckoning for people as hour-by-hour, the water receded enough to get through by foot and eventually car, and they could assess the damage to their properties.
Over the past few days, walking around and finding a stray shoe, or toy strewn on the grass, seeing people haul their ruined possessions out of their homes to dry in their front yards, drying out their garages with big industrial fans, ripping up carpets, or floor boards and throwing them out into industrial skips breaks my heart.
And while, at the time when it stopped raining, I danced for joy to be spared the flood, I feel a sense of something other now – I can’t say whether it’s predominantly a wave of upset, guilt, unease, lethargy – about my good fortune when others have not been so spared. Is this survivor guilt?
Now, as I look around the parts of the neighborhood that were not touched by the water, it looks like absolutely nothing has happened; as normal as any other sunny day in May. But the photos people took and the visible signs of damage tell a different story.
No more so than one road away when, in the middle of the flood, two houses were completely destroyed by a devastating fire leaving barely a shell standing for one of the homes, and the roof and upper floor blown out for the other. And other homes around them suffered the impact of the explosion.
What can I say to these families? There’s nothing of consequence to make the situation feel better. Perhaps, at extreme times, we as a community go through a collective suffering and the only way we can make sense of things is to take action.
In Gov. Bredesen’s press release of May 4, he states, “I commend Tennesseans on the resiliency of their communities and their unshakable compassion to lend a helping hand. We face many obstacles and challenges in the days to come, but I am reassured to see that we are united in our efforts to help those in need.”
And help has already been mobilized by neighbors helping neighbors to clean up their properties. I see the resilience and compassion in the people who turned up for a “Neighbors in need” cookout last night to feed the people who are cleaning their houses and to raise money for the families affected. People brought donations and food, cooked and served the food, and went around the neighborhood with offers to help.
We moved to Tennessee less than two years ago and, to be honest, I felt indifferent to my new home, indifferent to Nashville, reluctant as I was to move from the Capital District, New York and say goodbye to my good friends and networks I’d built up.
I was afraid of the stereotypes of southern culture with my liberal and diverse world-view, and non-Christian background. And quite honestly, I’ve found it to be a difficult cultural transition.
But, this single event has made me feel more connected to the place than anything in the last two years. It matters to me that this happened in my backyard. My husband says it succinctly, that this place is our home now.
WHAT CAN YOU DO?
You’re thinking, you don’t live in Nashville, Tennessee, so what can you do?
I’m asking for your help. If your local news isn’t carrying the story, please spread the word about the flood disaster on all your social networking sites.
Please text ‘REDCROSS’ to 90999 to donate $10.00 to their disaster relief fund. You can also find out more details on how to donate money at: www.middletnredcross.org.
Please consider contributing to a fund set up for one of the families in my neighborhood who has lost their home though fire at: http://byrdfamilyhelp.com/
The severe flooding has long-term ramifications for the financial wellbeing of the region. Please support Nashville’s economy in the short and long-term, and come back and visit.
Above all, please don’t ignore us. Think about your good fortune and imagine what I’ve described happening in your neighborhood, and what would you do?
SUSAN S. CHEUNG
Susan is a writer originally from London, England. She moved to Nashville, Tenn. in July 2008 when her husband accepted a position at Vanderbilt University Medical Center.
The family relocated after eight years in Guilderland, New York. And now they’ve made their home in Franklin, Tenn., where it has dawned on her with clashing cymbals, after the events of the past few days, this is her home now and she is making the most of her opportunities, connections and life.
