As the floods of North Texas continue to recede under the relentless white blare of the summer sun, the remnants of society emerge. It’s one of those visual statements made by dramatic weather events.
Things get ripped up in hurricanes, hurled for hundreds of yards by tornadoes and washed miles and miles away by water walls during floods. You find tires in the next county after a tornado leaves its signature. Oklahoma City Thunder plastic cups pop up in rivers surrounding Dallas after 8 inches of rain sends every piece of street debris into the sewers with final destination unknown. When debris catches a ride from a storm, it can land anywhere because the water flows and flows until it gets to the ocean and dumps the garbage in that big body of water to sink or choke sea life.
We live near Lake Grapevine, which about six weeks ago experienced the worst high surge of water in approximately 25 years. Roads flooded, streets closed, the lake was shut down. Many parts of this were nice: It’s quieter because no power boats are buzzing around the lake. We were able to walk across the street with our kayak and paddle among the trees. Our dogs could swim in the park.
There were also inconveniences: The main road to town was closed, so we had to drive out to the highway and circle back for even the smallest of errands that took us downtown. We couldn’t use the bike/jogging path, instead finding side streets for our exercise instead of the lush woods. The gawkers clogged our surrounding streets, wanting to check out how far the water crept into our neighborhood.
We’ve survived, and now the lake recedes. The muck smells. Many trees and bushes died. The leftovers of society lay exposed.
Last week, walking the dogs, two friends brought a plastic bag to start the clean up. They do this often. They are good Samaritans, not thanked by others. Only the clean shores of the bank reflect their efforts.
It’s not a big job, but they do it often, picking up garbage from local knuckleheads who start fires in the woods and leave behind beer cans, firecrackers, graham crackers, plastic bags and marshmallows. Then it’s a trek back to deposit the trash in an appropriate container, a task they take on repeatedly.
On this day last week, they dug into the ring of receding debris left by the high water. A Mountain Dew glass bottle, cap intact, nestled in the sticks. Imagine its age based on the container being glass. When’s the last time you saw a glass soft drink bottle? There’s no telling how long that had been at the bottom of the lake.
Then a blackened spray can, rusted and pitted, emerged from the black gunk. It could have been even older than the Mountain Dew bottle if you decided to carbon-date it.
There were, of course, multiple plastic bottles, bags and styrofoam cups (big surprise there), along with fishing lures, bobbers, line and poles. We found power bar wrappers, cardboard and tackle boxes. Society left behind.
Over the course of a few days, we had a corner of the land cleared. It was nice. I kayaked out that Friday night and looking back on the shore, things appeared pristine. I sighed, wishing it was as pretty up close as it was farther out where I paddled.
I knew it wasn’t, but also knew it would be if everyone put garbage where it belongs and stopped turning the outdoors into our personal garbage dumps. I don’t think it’s too much to ask. We just need to get the storms to cooperate, too.
Things get ripped up in hurricanes, hurled for hundreds of yards by tornadoes and washed miles and miles away by water walls during floods. You find tires in the next county after a tornado leaves its signature. Oklahoma City Thunder plastic cups pop up in rivers surrounding Dallas after 8 inches of rain sends every piece of street debris into the sewers with final destination unknown. When debris catches a ride from a storm, it can land anywhere because the water flows and flows until it gets to the ocean and dumps the garbage in that big body of water to sink or choke sea life.
We live near Lake Grapevine, which about six weeks ago experienced the worst high surge of water in approximately 25 years. Roads flooded, streets closed, the lake was shut down. Many parts of this were nice: It’s quieter because no power boats are buzzing around the lake. We were able to walk across the street with our kayak and paddle among the trees. Our dogs could swim in the park.
There were also inconveniences: The main road to town was closed, so we had to drive out to the highway and circle back for even the smallest of errands that took us downtown. We couldn’t use the bike/jogging path, instead finding side streets for our exercise instead of the lush woods. The gawkers clogged our surrounding streets, wanting to check out how far the water crept into our neighborhood.
We’ve survived, and now the lake recedes. The muck smells. Many trees and bushes died. The leftovers of society lay exposed.
Last week, walking the dogs, two friends brought a plastic bag to start the clean up. They do this often. They are good Samaritans, not thanked by others. Only the clean shores of the bank reflect their efforts.
It’s not a big job, but they do it often, picking up garbage from local knuckleheads who start fires in the woods and leave behind beer cans, firecrackers, graham crackers, plastic bags and marshmallows. Then it’s a trek back to deposit the trash in an appropriate container, a task they take on repeatedly.
On this day last week, they dug into the ring of receding debris left by the high water. A Mountain Dew glass bottle, cap intact, nestled in the sticks. Imagine its age based on the container being glass. When’s the last time you saw a glass soft drink bottle? There’s no telling how long that had been at the bottom of the lake.
Then a blackened spray can, rusted and pitted, emerged from the black gunk. It could have been even older than the Mountain Dew bottle if you decided to carbon-date it.
There were, of course, multiple plastic bottles, bags and styrofoam cups (big surprise there), along with fishing lures, bobbers, line and poles. We found power bar wrappers, cardboard and tackle boxes. Society left behind.
Over the course of a few days, we had a corner of the land cleared. It was nice. I kayaked out that Friday night and looking back on the shore, things appeared pristine. I sighed, wishing it was as pretty up close as it was farther out where I paddled.
I knew it wasn’t, but also knew it would be if everyone put garbage where it belongs and stopped turning the outdoors into our personal garbage dumps. I don’t think it’s too much to ask. We just need to get the storms to cooperate, too.