DAMN, BEAVERS!
It is a rainy afternoon in the wilds, quiet and serene. Birds sing in the trees, chipmunks dash through the woodland. A duck floats peacefully in a small pond, unaware of the calamity brewing to the south. There is a subtle shift in the long stretch of beaver dam, a gurgle in the waters.
All it takes is one miscalculation. Maybe the mud wasn’t mixed right, or packed tight enough. Maybe the sticks weren’t laced quite right. Whatever the factors might be, one slip in rodential engineering is all it took to wipe out a neighbourhood. Like a pinhole in Hoover, that single point of weakness in that earthen wall of sticks and mud was all it took to set everything free.
It was as hard to tell what was happening, as it was to predict the results. One moment, it was a grey, rainy night, and the next, the streets were flowing with water.
It started off slowly enough, a gurgling sound and slight rise in the water level. Within a matter of minutes, the water level in the creeks and ditches had risen to a point where the dirty flow spilled over.
The rest happened just as quickly. Entire sections of road washed away, crumbling beneath the punishing onslaught of water, unable to withstand the fierce passage of the raging waters. It crossed the streets, turning them into rivers of mud and debris.
Houses provided momentary resistance, but the attacking waters were strong and forceful. As the levels continued to rise, the water slapped and swirled up the sides of houses and wood slat fences two, three, four feet high in places.
Relentless and ruthless, the water barreled onwards towards lower ground, finding its way through windows and under doors. Basements, rec rooms and garages suddenly pooled with the floating detritus of ruined lives.
There was no stopping the assault. Storm drains clogged with debris that had been swept along in the current. Frantic crews of city workers teamed with a legion of neighbors and friends doing what they could to divert the torrents away from the lower lying houses, a desperate and futile battle. The neighbourhood united, joining together and toiling alongside the people they formerly shared little more than terse nods with – a brigade of shovels and rakes melded in the hope that this would be enough.
The chaos eventually subsided. In its wake, was a swath of ruined dreams and wanton destruction. Personal belongings floated in the lake-like streets: pails, pieces of fence, even a forlorn Raggedy Ann doll drifting face down in the mire. It was a sad and random assortment of displaced belongings.
It took less than an hour for the pond to drain. Less than an hour to create a swath of damage that stretched across four city blocks and pummeled 75 properties. A bit of a shift and a misplaced reinforcement and everything flowed out – water, plants, hopes and dreams, all washed away.
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