Hey, remember that time?

I find it crazy to think this whole ordeal is not over yet. What once seemed a glamorous volunteering opportunity quickly transformed into a disaster zone. We are no longer living in an area of despair, but the damage remains prevalent. We have quite a bit of work to do cleaning up - it seems like every day, I find a new dike! They are seemingly everywhere. It will be interesting to return to the area in August and find out how many repairs are complete.

The Concordia campus is controversially known for both its liberal and conservative leanings. It seems as though the campus is split - conservative economically, liberal socially. However, I have observed a small, yet growing, group of socially conservative students. This group dresses appropriately, acts appropriately, and presents itself appropriately overall.

Our entire community has turned socially conservative in terms of swearing and topics of discussion. We have a new "f" word here, and it is not allowed in conversation. While this subject ran our lives for several weeks, it is now considered obnoxious and unacceptable to bring it up at the dinner table or in lecture.

For over a week, all I thought about was sandbagging. I did not consider my daily worries such as homework, friends, family, etc. I woke up each morning and did not question my schedule for the day - nothing could matter more. All I could think about was when I would be able to get out and sandbag some more. I was constantly considering which areas of town would need the most help and which would be the quickest route there. I had the number for Sandbag Central memorized and random addresses scribbled on the palm of my hand. My clothes were covered in mud - the socks I put on each morning were rock hard, saturated with clay and sand. I did not eat a whole lot, because most of my meals came from the back of Red Cross trucks. I went five days without showering, and the same period without washing my hands. I was repulsive, but dedicated.

For weeks, this permeated our discussion to an unbelievable extent. Anyone - friend, foe, near, or far - would talk about the crest prediction, the height of the contingency dikes, the number and weight of sandbags, etc. Now, on the other hand, a sudden hush has come about the area. No one wants to discuss what happened. If a speaker decides to lecture about it, members of the audience will get up and leave. If anyone attempts to bring it up in conversation, friends shudder and have a countenance of disgust.

It is hard to talk about, yes. I understand. However, I feel it is imperative for us to keep others in our thoughts and prayers. As an ex-psychology major, I hope I learned something about the field. We cannot keep pretending it did not happen, and we need to talk about it to help ourselves move on. Repressed memories hurt more than regular memories, and we can stop that from happening. It was an intense two weeks, and we are not done yet. Let's keep fighting!

P.S. Can you believe I wrote this entire post without using the word "flood?" Oh wait, I just did! Darn.

"3.5 million sandbags...that's a lot of sand!"

This website, written by a fellow sandbagger and blogger, is absolutely hysterical. I hope you take the time to look at it and that you get as much of a kick out of it as I did!

Visualizing the 3.5 million sandbags

The sun was shining high and I walked barefoot down the road

I finished a ridiculous amount of homework in the last few days, so I thought I'd be all clever and do something fun tonight...clean my closet! Little did I know what fun it would end up being.

I started by pulling out all the random things that have been layered along the floor of the closet. I found quite an assortment of items - most curiously, a plastic bag which was tied shut. Quite odoriferous, I was terrified of this bag. When I opened it up, I realized why. When I went home for our impromptu flood break, I kindly packed my Red-River-coated clothes. They were absolutely repulsive, and I am forever indebted to my parents for washing them for me! However, I forgot to clean something...MY SHOES!

In this plastic bag were my running shoes. Well, they will certainly never be running shoes again. These things looked awful - they were coated in about a bajillion layers of sand, clay, mud, and grossness. I did not know where to start.

I decided to take them down to the wash bin in the laundry room and tackle the big guys. I started by lathering them with laundry detergent and taking my scrubby to them. When I filled my left shoe with water, I promptly turned it upside down to dump it out. The water that came out was black. This is after washing them, mind you. I decided this would call for desperate measures.

I'd heard a rumor about washing shoes in the washing machine. I turned to the internet and found lots of handy articles about the best way to go about this. However, I did not have the nerves to actually put my shoes in the school machines (they already make a thumping noise and sound like they're murdering your clothes...sometimes they even flood! and we don't need any more flooding). Right now, my shoes are sitting outside just looking disgusting. I'm sorry for anyone who may walk by.

Hopefully the cleaning fairy will appear and in the morning, I'll look outside to see sparkly clean shoes. I am dying to go running again!

Didn't it rain, children?

You might find yourself wondering, "Jeepers! How much more can this girl possibly write about a FLOOD!?" Well, SURPRISE, there always seems to be more one could say about a flood.

Today, Team Evap reunited for another sandbagging adventure. Unfortunately, most of the team was at home for Easter, so we were only six strong. However, we were a mighty six.

We headed toward Rivershore Drive. As its name insinuates, this place is creepily close to the river. Or the river is creepily close to this place. Anyway, we had a lot of work to do. After the first crest, the river had ripped through several of the neighborhood's dikes (many of the houses had over six feet of water in the basement). The National Guard promptly rebuilt the dikes and then added a 7-foot clay dike right down the middle of the street. I felt pretty bad for the homeowners on the wrong side of the dike - shows how much faith the city has in the sandbag dikes.

Regardless, sandbagging today was a much more pleasurable experience than I had a few weeks ago. The overall sentiment was much more relaxed and easygoing. We were still racing the river, but nowhere near the extent we had in the past. I appreciated losing the anxious, rushed feeling.

One of the campus periodicals compiled the following facts about the flood. I found them highly entertaining. You will presumably find them entertaining as well!

"The number of sandbags that volunteers in the state have filled as of Wednesday was 4.3 million is [sic] equal to:

• The height of 1,720 Empire State Buildings if the bags were stacked one on top of the other.
• A vertical stack of single bags would reach from sea level into space.
• Placed end-to-end, the bags would stretch from Bismarck to Oklahoma City.
• The weight would be equivalent to about 360 Boeing 747's.

The 10,920 miles of [clay and sandbag] dikes equate to almost half the distance around the world as well as twice the distance from New York to California.

The 10,245,000 gallons of water pumped equates to more than 16 Olympic-sized swimming pools."


Some crazy facts, eh? I also appreciated many of the articles in "The Concordian" this week. I think my favorite part was the "Gadget of the Week," which is always an up-and-coming hot technological item. This week, the staff featured the Sump Pump! Wonderful.

Oh, happy day!

Lower predicted second crest = way super happy.

...and make them into monsoons!

The Optimistic Ottoman has for sure been empty these last twenty-four hours. Speaking of which, I can't believe I have only been back for a day! Seems like ages... Anyway, I digress - back to the Optimistic Ottoman.

My professors have all been telling their students not to worry about homework due at the end of the semester because we probably won't be here anyway. It was crazy! I was expecting everything to be normal when we returned, but I guess not. Chances are pretty high that we will have a second evacuation. I haven't the slightest idea what that would entail; perhaps the semester will just end?

In that case, I would be heading over to the Negative Nook. I am really sorry to say it, and I feel selfish, but that would ensure that the flood is really ruining everything. So many events, concerts, exams, papers, etc. have been cancelled. I am honestly feeling as though I'm not learning as much this semester as I could.

However, I am super fortunate for all of the faculty and the community that will be leading me towards the Happy Hallway yet again. It is such a wonderful feeling to see the difference we are making in peoples' lives. I am looking forward to the day when this is all over and we can say that our efforts paid off. Happy Hallway, here we come!

Oh deep river, I want to cross over into campground

This is a letter written by a fellow sophomore Cobber named Adam. It is to be published in the last issue of our campus newspaper this year. The Concordian is devoting the entire issue to the flood - I'm expecting it to be quite a tear-jerker, kind of like this letter...


Dear Flood Fighter,

I just wanted to write you and tell you how proud of you I am. No one told you that you’d spend a week filling, passing, and stacking. That’s not why you came here. But that didn’t stop you.

When you heard the news of the flood, you didn’t shrug and look the other way. You spent the weekend filling bags. And when the college was scheduled to have class the Monday after, you didn’t just go along with it. You took the time to write emails to the administration, pleading with them to allow you to become responsibly engaged in the world the best way you knew how.

When the mist turned to rain, you didn’t let it extinguish your spirit. You stood in the mud, passing bags, not caring about the mess on your shoes. You didn’t just ignore the mud: you wore it as a badge of honor. You smeared it on your face and clothes and let it become the new trendy accessory. When the rain turned to snow, you didn’t care. You added extra layers, hand and foot warmers. You gave gloves to those who didn’t have them. You didn’t let the freezing temperatures freeze your desire.

As the week progressed, you somehow made manual labor the cool thing to do. “Are you bagging today?” you’d ask. But if the answer was, “No,” you didn’t judge. You felt bad for them, and encouraged them to get out and do anything they could.

You bagged on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. You bagged houses miles from town belonging to people you didn’t know, all for the greater good. You bagged for your friends and complete strangers. It didn’t make a difference to you, Flood Fighter. As long as they needed help, you were there.

You bagged, passed, and stacked until your muscles ached, and when they ached, you bagged, passed, and stacked some more. Not until your arms and back screamed for mercy did you finally call it a day. And when you did, you knew you were only resting for another day of the same.

It wasn’t just a day-in day-out battle for you, though, Flood Fighter. Some days you worked for hours on end, came home for a nap, and rose again with the moon for another shift. You filled the Fargodome and Sandbag Central to capacity so they had to turn people away. You showed up in such overwhelming numbers at all times that they didn’t know where to send you. And when the busses stood still, you took it upon yourself to find someone who needed your help.

Flood Fighter, you have gone above and beyond. When your community needed you more than ever, you answered the call and then some. You poured your heart and soul into every last bag along with the sand. And when they finally evacuated you to some other part of the world, you didn’t turn a deaf ear to the valley. You watched anxiously as the news covered the flood. You checked every day to see when you could get back. You bagged in other parts of Minnesota and North Dakota. You refused to forget.

So thanks again, Flood Fighter, for all you’ve done. You’ve shown that our mission isn’t just for show. You mean it, and you’re not afraid to prove it with your blood, sweat, and tears. As for now, Flood Fighter, get your rest. We’ll need you again for the next fight.

Flozzard?

I thought this was an April Fool's Day joke...but it was posted today, and it's for real. Haha!

"A "Pillow Fight post-Flozzard Fargo Moorhead" is scheduled for 4 to 6 p.m. Saturday at the US Bank Plaza in downtown Fargo. The event is scheduled in conjunction with International Pillow Fight Day."

http://www.areavoices.com/springflood/?blog=47939

My world is a flood / slowly I become one with the mud

The predictions for the next few weeks are absolutely, terrifyingly, heartbreaking. I've been avoiding the news coverage at all costs, hoping to avoid any bad news. Last I checked, we were doing well - a second crest was expected, but it would be manageable. Now I'm looking forward to the end of the school year with a bit of hesitation and apprehension. Will I be sitting in my music theory class working on what now seems a silly composition? Or will I be out fighting the flood, filling sandbag after sandbag?

I came across this clip on CNN.com: http://www.cnn.com/2009/US/weather/03/30/fargo.slideshow/index.html. It is fascinating, curious, and intriguing. I really appreciate the description of dike building and the intricate details of filling a sandbag.

Each sandbag goes through a long life process. Here are the steps.

1) Person One brings sandbags, sand, shovels, cones, workbenches, etc. to sites.
2) Everyone sets up the site, creating all sorts of nifty tools.
3) Person Two takes an empty sandbag from a pile, opens it, hands it to Person Three.
4) Person Three holds the sandbag below a traffic cone.
5) Person Four shovels two large shovel-fuls or three small shovel-fuls of sand into the bag.
6) Person Three hands the sandbag to Person Five.
7) Person Five ties the bag and hands to Person Six.
8) Person Six stacks the bag in a huge pile.

From here, the sandbag goes elsewhere:
1) Directly to a zipper-line, straight to a dike.
2) On a semi or in the back of a truck to be taken to a zipper-line and then to a dike.
3) Etc.

There you g0 - the first few steps in the creation of a sandbag. Stay tuned - you never know, maybe I'll post the steps of the creation of a dike. Goodness knows how riveting that would be...