The Ripple Effect

A few days ago, our community learned that the plan to build a system of dikes to protect our neighborhoods had been scrapped. Government officials and the Corps of Engineers said it just wouldn't keep the water out.

So a handful of very motivated neighbors called in a private engineering firm to discuss a new plan. This plan entailed a several mile long dike to hold back the flow, clay "plugs" that would seal off the bays we live on from the main channel of the Missouri, and a "de-watering" system that would help reduce the impact of groundwater. The strategy would also protect the waste water treatment plant that serves our area. The project would take between 750,000 and 1 million sandbags to complete.

With the help of city officials, the National Guard, Corps of Engineers, construction companies from throughout the state and thousands of volunteers, the implementation of this plan has been underway for about 24 hours. The first of the bay "plugs" is being constructed, and there's cautious optimism about its success. The community and National Guard cranked out over 250,000 sandbags on Memorial Day. That could be enough to seal off the waste water plant, which is a top priority.

The hope is for the dike surrounding the area to be complete by Saturday.

We continue to persevere on the home front while spending as much time at "Sandbag Site #3" to contribute to the community good. Each household's part of the venture is 3000 sandbags. Mike and I can fill about 80 per hour.

We have moved everything out of our basement and virtually everything out of the main floor. Mike, Laif, Jim, Jeff and Josh came by yesterday to help us move the last of the big furniture into our trailer, and also pull up the carpet out of the basement. Things that were too heavy to move were put up on cinder blocks.

We plan to live on our third floor until we are told to evacuate, which we still believe is a strong possiblilty, despite the protective measures underway. There is no way of knowing how much water will be released from the dam in the end. It is raining cats and dogs in Montana, and the snowmelt really has only started.

Today we put a deposit on a rental house, so we will have a place to go when the time comes. We are incredibly lucky to have found it. And we can bring Daffodil and Sundance! That is a huge relief as their antics have helped us keep our chins up in the darkest moments. I can't imagine parting with them.

The water is rising (we are starting to see the impact of yesterday's increased flow). It is windy and dark outside, which makes everything seem so much worse.

Yesterday I signed us up for the Reverse 911 service so we'll get any emergency updates on our cell phones. A week ago, I did not even know such a thing existed.

Heartfelt thanks to all of you who have offered your support to us over the last few days. We have been truly touched by your concern and offers of help. Take care out there.

Bad news and good friends

Yesterday we learned that more water is coming. The earlier "longshot" forecast of 120,000 cfs flowing out of the Garrison dam became a reality -- the dam will open to this level on June 2. In addition, we can anticipate 150,000 cfs at some yet to be determined future date.

This news -- and its surrounding flock of rumors -- meant moments of dumbfounded panic which quickly turned into action. And, powered by the heartfelt concern, determination, and pure muscle of our friends, we have moved most of the furniture out of the first and second stories of our house, have a place to store it, and have a strong line on a temporary home.

The neighborhood is filled deep into the night with the sound of heavy equipment, the ever-widening puddles of water flowing out of sump pumps, and frightened faces everywhere.

Yesterday was filled with moments of truth:

I visited three separate sand bagging locations searching for a bale of loose bags (our neighbors shared a pile of sand that they'd had delivered with us). For several hours, the community was nearly "out." About 3 million bags have been filled, and this morning I heard the mayor say on the radio that another 3 are on their way.

I nearly lost my mind when I climbed the stepladder into the attic with my wedding dress over my arm and tucked it away.

A woman called into the radio station looking for help from someone who lives near the humane society on the north side of Mandan because they had been unable to cross town to feed the pets in the shelter.

Mike, Laif, Jeff, Barbara, Rick, Al, Diane and others shared their time, resources and connections to help us find solutions and get the work done. We can not say enough to thank you. The written word rarely fails me, but here I am.

I have added more photos here.

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.229507787062822.76105.100000108077904#!/media/set/?set=a.229507787062822.76105.100000108077904

Hoping and Coping

It wasn't long ago that we thought the protective mama goose nesting on our dock was the only thing standing between us and a good time on the Missouri River this summer.

That changed in a flash with announcements early last week that the Corps of Engineers planned to increase the flow from the upstream Garrison dam by over 50,000 cubic feet per second into the river, our town, and our backyard. Heavy snow pack, rain -- and perhaps a lack of perspicacity on the part of the Corps of Engineers -- backed the water up behind the dam with no where to go but here.

In the days that followed, the news worsened. The release will rise to 85,000 cubic feet per second on Monday, to 90,000 cfs on June 4, to 95,000 on June 6 and 100,000 on June 7. It could reportedly elevate to 120,000 cfs in time. The highest flow ever recorded in the past was 64,000 cfs.

Flood stage on the Missouri is 16 feet; at 100,000 cfs the river will rise over 18. Yesterday, the river level stood at 15.8 feet.

It has been inspiring to be part of a community that has united to plan, build, and tackle the incredibly hard physical labor together. Most people have been going to their jobs for a few hours each morning then joining crews to shore up the property of friends, relatives, and strangers. I am overwhelmed with gratitude to the team of Mike's colleagues who worked tirelessly with us on Thursday to help protect our home.

About a half dozen sandbag stations have been created by the National Guard where folks are shoveling scoop after scoop of sand into bags, hefting them onto trucks, driving them home and building walls.

Information flow is improving, though government officials are facing credibility issues because the news they share often changes, leading to scary rumors and false hopes. This is a "historic event" (floods are extremely rare here, and one of this magnitude has never been experienced) so we're all in uncharted territory, community leaders included.

We learned last night that a dike that had been planned to protect our neighborhood from the worst of the flow will not be built after all. This changes our mindset from "hey we could be OK" to "let's move everything our of the basement, come up with an evacuation plan, and try to figure out where we are going to live for the months it could take to recover from this if we have to leave it behind."

I have found that I cope best in this emergency when my hands are moving. Lifting a shovel, carrying a sandbag, pushing a wheelbarrow. It is difficult to concentrate on much else. Mike has been helping friends and colleagues every day, while also gearing us up with sump pumps, a generator, and doing the literal heavy lifting at our place.

Our neighborhood has come together in a collaborative and supportive spirit, and we have been heartened by everyone's generosity and guidance. Sherri, our friend who cares for our kittens when we travel and lives in a safe part of town, came by just to let us know that if we are forced to go, she will take our dear little Sundance and Daffodil into her home. This quiet comfort means the world.

Shelley from across the street made me laugh last night for the first time in days.

This post is getting long and it is starting to rain. I have added photos to my facebook page here: http://www.facebook.com/krnmaria3#!/media/set/?set=a.229507787062822.76105.100000108077904 if you'd like to have a look. I will try to keep updating both here and there.

Meanwhile, I understand open water swim season starts this weekend in Seattle. Don't get me started.

Pedal Power with a Purpose

Yesterday, I learned that while it may be small, when it puts its mind to it, my new hometown can be mighty. Around 9:30 a.m., I entered the Century High School gymnasium with the intent of riding a spin bike as far as I could for 20 minutes. I was one of 1300 people participating in the Great American Bike Race, an annual effort to raise money to support local people affected by cerebral palsy and related disabilities. By my calculation, over 2% of the town's population passed through the gym doors that day, while the scope of supporters was, of course, much larger. I heard we raised around a quarter of a million dollars. I had lucked into a coveted spot when my swimming friend Mike was unable to participate and gave me the chance to step in. I rode on a 12-person squad from Hub Insurance, captained by Laif (see photo below -- he won a coffee cup for posting the best ride in his heat) who did everything in his power to help me figure stuff out and have a good ride. Oh, and feel at home. A Hub Insurance colleague, Louie, had a son who lost his life to cerebral palsy several years ago; it meant a lot to meet her and her daughter, and be part of the group. In case you are wondering, riding a spin bike as fast as you can for 20 minutes no picnic. All the tension is pulled out of the bike, so the whole idea is to simply make your legs fly with the speediest cadence you can muster. I'm more of a Jan Ullrich than a Lance Armstrong style rider, so I was a little lost without the feeling of big gears. I think I hung around 21 miles per hour. And it was hard.

We rode in the recreational division (our team was made up of swimmers, runners, guys who play basketball and golf, and two very nice high school hockey stars, among others who I didn't have the chance to meet...I'm not sure there was a serious cyclist among our ranks). I'm not certain how we finished up, though midway through the event we were hanging in second place and averaging over 7 miles per person.

Our bright yellow steed was parked next to the "celebrity" bike; I watched the chief of police, the tax commissioner, and even the mayor of Bismarck, John Warford (he's the rider in purple below) put their muscle behind the cause.

There were also teams of grandmas and grandpas who rocked in rocking chairs for 20 minutes instead of riding spin bikes.

My swim coach friend Loic, who participated on a team with his wife, described the Great American Bike Race as "overwhelming." Not in the physical sense, but in the spiritual one that's about community and caring.

It was a powerful thing to be part of. Thank you, everyone, who supported me with your messages and your pledges.

Weather or Not

OK. So I am a little chagrined about the remarks I made on facebook yesterday about the weather. I was kidding around that I hoped the promised blizzard would be one of the Dairy Queen ilk, and grousing that no one in town would bring us a pizza (while we watched the Huskies play their first game of the Pac 10 championship, recorded because it aired after bedtime CST the previous night -- Go Dawgs!).

Turns out, while I watched the "wintry mix" of rain and snow blowing sideways from the cozy comfort of my home office all day, over 800 motorists were stranded on the highways across North Dakota.

From the Bismarck Tribune: "Interstate 94 was still closed from Dickinson to Fargo as of 11:30 a.m. Saturday, as was U.S. Highway 83 from Bismarck to Minot and highways west of Garrison. No travel advisories remained in effect for areas from south and west of Hazen east to state Highway 3 and in the Jamestown and Valley City areas. Interstate 29 was reopened from Fargo to the South Dakota border but remained closed from Watertown to Sisseton. I-29 also was closed from the Canadian border to Grand Forks and state Highway 1806 was closed between Highway 8 and Highway 200."

Wow. After the main arteries of the state were closed because they were impossible to traverse on Friday, many drivers abandoned their vehicles, rescued by state department of transportation workers. Some were even discovered by helicopters this morning.

I should have known not to make light of it. As I was driving home from swim practice early Friday the local announcer on Prairie Public radio warned of a no-travel advisory across the state, and recommended that if you had to go out, you should "be sure your winter emergency kit is well supplied. And if you are stranded, please stay with your car." If I've learned anything about my new demographic, North Dakotans are a hearty, determined bunch. It takes some pretty serious weather to keep them from going about their business. I should have known.

Life goes on, and there's no drama.

Reflective perhaps of the unsinkable spirit of this place, today dawned sunny and beautiful. Our driveway had been naturally "shoveled" by the wind; the large blizzardy snowfall had drifted gently but firmly into our neighbor's yard.

Primetime Big 10 basketball coverage notwithstanding, I think I am going to like it here. But I'd be lying if I didn't own up to the tug on my heart as I spoke with my sister by phone today, and she said that daffodils are blooming in Oregon.

867-5309

So, when was the last time you opened the phone book to look up a number? Around the same time that Tommy Tutone crooned about finding Jenny's on the wall? Or perhaps when, by definition, phone numbers suddenly had ten digits instead of seven?

Yep, same here.

Until we moved to Bismarck, where the phone book is more than a handy doorstop or a quarterly nuisance to drag to the recycle bin. (Assuming, of course, there was a recycling recepticle at the ready. But that's a story for another day.)

Upon moving into our home, our realtor Amy greeted us with the house keys and a warm welcome. She noticed there didn't seem to be a phone book around, and kindly offered to give us one of the extras she had in her office. We declined, brandishing iPad and Blackberry and bemused grins.

Fast forward to Valentine's Day. Dear Mike had arranged for a beautiful bouquet of red tulips to be delivered me at our home. Around 9 am, I received a call from Amanda, the delivery person.

"I have some flowers for you," she said. "But I can't find your house in the phone book. You know, on the map in the front. Where do you live?"

Our house has been here since 2002. We live in a fairly familiar part of town. Mike had given the florist our address and phone number.

I was excited about the flowers (which were beautiful, by the way -- what could be more precious than tulips when it's 30 below?), I bit my tongue and gave her directions.

In the ensuing weeks, we observed a related phenomenon: very few local businesses have their own websites. A Google search for everything from haircuts to hardware stores coughs up a list of aggregators. Marketing here is word of mouth, charmingly sincere radio advertising, and, you guessed it, the good old fashioned phone book.

On top of that, somehow GPS and Google maps are not yet in vogue. I have given everyone from the plumber to the electrician to the housekeeper directions to our place recently. In Seattle, you wouldn't insult someone's tech savvy by even offering. Here, it's common courtesy. That said, I can get by with "cross the river, get off at Mackenzie, and go left-right-left and stop at the white house" which seems to work even though our home does not have a number on it.

Recently, I spent nine days on the West Coast. I walked barefoot in the sand. I listened to top notch local radio. I drank really great coffee. I saw trees. And mountains. And had conversations about something other than the weather.

And I was homesick for this crazy flat snowy land, and a home that somehow is not on the map in the phone book.

Of Wizardry, Walleye and Wonder

Week 2 in Bismarck is on the books, and our good natured journey up the learning curve continues. The last few days have been filled with more adventure and insight -- and a hearty appreciation for what we've encountered.

Last Saturday night, we enjoyed our "first date" in town by taking in a Dakota Wizards basketball game. The Wizards are a development league squad, made up of young NBA hopefuls and recent NBA draft picks who were sent down from deep teams to get more playing experience instead of riding the bench behind experienced vets all season.

We watched some darn good ball from near-courtside seats, for $10 less than the nosebleeders at the top of Hec Edmundson Pavilion. The talented local gal singing the National Anthem (in jeans and a t-shirt!) put Christina Aguilera's Superbowl flub to even greater shame. The vibe was very fun and family focused, with shoot-around games for kids and grown-ups alike, an enthusiastic rendition of the chicken dance for all to participate in, autograph sessions with the players, and ready high fives and hugs from the team mascot, Dunkie.

This week, our appetite for adventure brought us into the local culinary scene. On Friday night we braved the rough and tumble Broken Oar, a workingman's bar on the Missouri River. The limited menu (Would you like the chicken and rice tonight? our sincere server asked) capped our experience at one light beer apiece. It was strange to hang out in an establishment where smoking is still allowed and stranger still to see boxes of cigarettes tucked between the Doritos and Pringles in the vending machine.

Emerging from the nicotine no worse for wear except for our hair and clothing, on we went to the Toasted Frog, a very nice restaurant which opened recently to much ado in downtown Bismarck. Detered by the lengthy wait, we decided to save that experience for later and found our way to the (smoke free!) Blarney Stone, a popular Irish-themed pub, with tasty food, friendly service, and a cozy atmosphere.

The most interesting culinary event of the week was our own attempt to cook the local favorite fish, the walleye. Walleye is a freshwater fish that looks a bit like a flat halibut, in the seafood case at Dan's Supermarket, anyway. While walleye can be baked and grilled, experts we trusted suggested breading and pan frying, which we did. Felt a little funny since our frying pan experience up to now has been limited to hash browns and the odd sauteed mushroom, but the result was actually very nice...alongside baked sweet potatoes and steamed asparagus, we'll call our first walleye dinner attempt a success!

In order to balance our gourmet indulgences, we needed to move around a bit. So we donned our new snowshoes (many thanks, Seattle Oppies!) and climbed around Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park, located about six miles from our house. The fort was built in 1872, primarily as a military outpost protecting the railway construction passing through the area at the time. We'll post separately as we learn more about the history of North Dakota, but for now here are a few shots of the vistas from the fort and our snowshoeing adventure. Windy, snowy, wonderful.