Flood Plain

“Water, the Earth, and the universe will go on without us. It is we who cannot live without a molecule comprised of two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atoms.”

ref: Ruth H. Hopkins, Atmos Magazine

A stream whispers and sings, it yells and speaks along the bed of a valley. But there is something silent about a flood. Floods wash over the land and in the water-thickened distance, there is something muffled and shocked. We are also bodies of water. And maybe, in a way, our language is water’s child, how it grows and changes. How it grows long arms. How silence can say more than its form in voice.

Hurricane Ida rattled New York City in September. But it was not the first storm to do so in 2021. I felt like I had deja vu, flipping through video clips that people all around the city were sharing: images of New York neighborhoods becoming rivers, waterfalls, and swamps. There are places in New Orleans that still don’t have power. It was not two weeks before another storm had flooded the city in mere minutes. To have it happen again in one season was - terrifying.

That was nearly a month ago and there is no sign of it in my smattering of media outlets or conversations. And I guess that’s the way of news, it just keeps going. Which is why I want to bring this back around. The storm was never just the storm, the storm will come back, and when it does.

how will we plan

how will we communicate with each other

how will we regrow

My mother drove to Ikea in the rain. She described the way the water became like waves, cars were floating. In the weeks after she could not use her water without boiling it first.

And if I needed to, how could I go to her? Space had become completely altered in the storm. The small hills and valleys that undulate below consciousness became very clear. Near Prospect Park we are on a hill, and where those hills level out became canals. Distances between people became vast that night and the days after, neighborhoods became small islands appeared all over the city, while others became moats. Subways were inundated with dramatic waterfalls like some apocalyptic science fiction movie. The rain started and within thirty minutes these dramatic scenes became viral, except, unlike a film, they were not planned. Except everything has to do with design - especially in a city which was built for a future that did not come to be.

The infrastructure bill is being passed in congress. About Resilience and Western Water Infrastructure, the white house’s official summary states the following: “...communities safer and our infrastructure more resilient to the impacts of climate change and cyber attacks, with an investment of over $50 billion.” But let me be clear the immediate need for a new look at infrastructure, and, in this sense, something is better than nothing.

Language is being shifted around how to understand these storms, from the “flash flood,” to the “flash flood emergency,” previously unused in the New York City area. It seems clear that resilience in climate infrastructure should be separate from the cyber attacks stated on the bill. The words developing around climate change can feel like learning a new language. While we don’t have time to build myths, much less, huge changes in money, legislation, and massive construction projects. People will go to work, if it is between the storm and losing their jobs. Mothers may even drive to Ikea on a whim.

Take care. Call. Reach out. If we are not here for one another then the silence the flood brings will cover us too. In fear, in paralysis, in the absence of story. Be a river of moving water still, it is your birthright to flow.