KAREN LANGSTON:
“We will truly never understand the reasons for such enormous devastation, but the reaction from Vermonters makes me proud.”
Four houses, two on each side of the bridge, sustained major flooding—my house being one of them. The river rose, at first unnoticed, up the bank, silently creeping out from the woods, eventually spilled onto our two acres of property. Then, as if almost apologetically, it inevitably entered our home. As my husband and I stood by trying to make quick decisions and take action, our neighbors gathered, making “what if” conversation about the bridge and our obvious predicament while encouraging us to leave quickly. It became apparent we were running out of time, especially after the fire department appeared informing us that we were the first for evacuation and asking if we needed help. The Williams River just 80 feet from our home was raging and rolling out of control. It joined forces with the swollen brook in the backyard, making a virtual island of our house, as floodwaters reshaped our property—and in due course perhaps our future. We spent that first night with wonderful neighbors, and a friend who had recently relocated to South Carolina offered his vacant condo for us to stay in as long as we needed to. We readily accepted his offer; our house was unlivable. The nine inches of standing water inside extended from the front door to the back, flooding the living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom with silt-filled river water. All closets, cabinets, walls, and flooring needed to be removed. The destruction was also etched across our landscape: When the water receded, there was no indication of where the driveway began or ended and no sign of our expansive lawn; everything was completely buried in thick river muck. Our raisedbed vegetable gardens, just days from harvest, lay in ruins. Downed trees were scattered everywhere; car tires, cobs of corn, and random children’s toys littered our property. The front yard that leads down to the river had become a virtual beach covered in fine sand, the river bank now looking vulnerable without the trees that had stood against the silhouette of the missing bridge. The huge old apple tree in the backyard, now split in two, rested on top of our roof, a result of the nonstop rain and the weight of the heavy, ripe fruit. The two feet of water that engulfed the yard forced the deck right up out of the ground. Perhaps if the ground is forgiving in the spring, the deck might settle back down, just as our lives will eventually settle down. A month before the flood, I had been very excited to begin a position as Vermont Academy bookstore manager. My husband and I had been part of the VA family for some years, as both of our children were graduates, Elliott in 2003 and Brittany in 2005. As parents of day students, we spent a good amount of time attending various sports events, concerts, and plays, and volunteering for all of the parents’ weekend fundraisers. It goes without saying how fond we are of Vermont Academy, but my devotion has doubled since that fateful day in August when the landscape of Vermont changed forever. Between starting a new job and having my world turned upside down, I was struggling to keep my balance. The faculty, staff, and students of VA were enormously supportive, and in the days that followed the flood, a group of 16 coworkers and 70 students arrived at our home over a three-day period. Armed
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w i nter 2012