The return to normal

The Red River crested slightly below predicted levels and is now slowly receding from the clay levees and piles of sandbags. Our little tributary has sunk back down to its average level, if such a level exists. You see, in this kind of environment and this kind of landscape, nothing is static. Change is normal. This entire basin, with its countless streams and gravel ridges, is young in geologic time. The Red River is merely the last vestige of a humongous glacial lake. The channel is alive, drifting and slithering back and forth like a snake unsure of its destination. The people living here were hunter-gatherers, then farmers, then industrial and now something else. What is the mathematical mean in such a place? Every thing, every era, every variable is part of the norm.

The parks as lakes

Trollwood Park in Fargo is now Trollwood Lake. Gooseberry Park in Moorhead has also been transformed into a water park. That's why these places are reserved as green spaces. No one should be living here. But in years like this one, the following legitimate question might be asked: Should the green spaces be expanded? That's what Grand Forks did after the catastrophic flood of 1997. Today that community has a beautiful green way up and down the river. Residents use it for recreation and community events. Plus, it allowed room for the construction of a gigantic levee system. Fargo-Moorhead might do well to consider this plan instead of the currently proposed diversion channel.

The sign of the times

Road closures are one of the first signs of spring in the flood-prone Red River basin. The list of road and bridge closures in Fargo-Moorhead lengthens as the river deepens. The National Weather Service now predicts a crest of 38 feet on Sunday, but the only thing we know for certain is that these predictions change with the day, and sometimes the hour.

Out in the countryside, the tributaries are starting to calm. We were able to open our culvert gate yesterday, draining the cold pond in our yard. But it's a warm day, and the increased rate of melt could funnel a second surge down the watershed. Basement seepage will remain a problem no matter what the atmosphere does. There is no turning back the seasonal clock now.

The moving crest

As the water uphill and upstream slowly recedes, the water in the bottom of the basin slowly rises. There is an interesting lag time between the feeder streams and the Red River. The tributaries rise fast and furious within hours of a major rain event or the first hint of spring breakup. But it takes days before the full effects are seen at the big Red. The latest forecast predicts a steady rise to between 38 and 39 feet in Fargo by Saturday morning. That predicted crest is about two feet lower than last year's record level. I suppose that may be somewhat of a relief, but the early arrival of flood season this year has caught most everyone off guard. It's a sprint to the finish.

The soil will remain saturated for quite some time. The sump pumps in our basement will run for weeks, until the water table eventually settles down to summer levels. However, we can do something about the standing water in our yard sooner than that. The transfer pump is currently doing its job, sucking up water from the low spots and and spitting it out to the other side of the flood dike. It's easier than using buckets.

The faucet

It appears that we have been granted a temporary reprieve. The main branch of the Wild Rice River leveled off overnight. The south branch that we live on also appears to have crested for now. There is still significant potential runoff available in this watershed, but it is contained within shaded snowbanks and frozen soil. The rain stopped and the air is cool, effectively turning off the tap upstream. However, the Red River is like a big bathtub, still collecting water from all corners of the basin. That flood is yet to come.

The clogged drain

The Wild Rice River at Twin Valley rose 10 feet in the last 48 hours, according to the nearest USGS stream gage. Accordingly, we have seen an equally dramatic rise in our back yard. The smaller tributaries like this fill up first, spreading out in a horizontal fashion, waiting for their turn to drain downstream to the Red River. Backed up, the cold waters swirl floating ice and debris into pools.

The spreading water spilled over the road today. We live behind the grove of trees you see in the picture above. A transfer pump was purchased in town and hauled back home while the road was still passable. By dark, it wasn't passable anymore. But we have our pump, we have our food and water, and a Sunday to watch the water go by.

The tipping point

An inch of rain and steady temperatures in the high 30s (even at night) were enough to stir the sleeping beast that will be this spring flood. Our little river jumped out of its banks overnight. Overland flooding is filling the fields and ditches. The gates on the culverts had to be closed to prevent water from backing up into our yard. Our yard is surrounded by an earthen dike, making it a giant bowl of snow. That snow is melting now and it has no place to go. We will live on a lake until the river recedes.

The slush and the mud

A week has passed without sunshine. Instead, there are gray clouds releasing a slow but steady mist, which occasionally turns to rain. The frozen landscape is slowly thawing into a slushy, muddy mess. Some local farmers are still trying to get last year's corn out of the fields before the frost comes out of the ground. Meltwater flows on top of the ice in the rivers and ditches. Gravity waits for no one or no thing.

The National Weather Service updates the flood forecast with changing conditions. In this case, even a cold rain melts snow faster than warm and dry weather. Spring rains were accounted for in the flood models, so few adjustments are necessary until something unexpected occurs. Major flooding is still likely for most locations along the main stem of the Red River. Significant overland flooding is expected from the tributaries feeding the southern basin (that's us). Like last spring, the fields will fill up with water, roads will wash out, and conditions will change rapidly. And so it begins.

The decisions

March 1st marks the beginning of meteorological spring. Though the air temperature is struggling to reach the melting point, the trees and buildings and other dark surfaces are absorbing the sun's radiation, melting the surrounding snow and ice anyway. This slow-dripping melt is a cushion of time against potential runoff.

Now is also the time for preparation and difficult questions. How much do you spend on supplies that you may not ever use? Last year, we could have used a trash pump to transfer water and small solids from the yard to the river. These pumps were a hot item last spring, selling at inflated emergency prices, and so we made do with simple plastic buckets instead. We could use a gas generator for power emergencies. But again, it might gather dust under a tarp in the garage for years before seeing even one day's use. In the meantime, these machines have to be maintained and stored. Every decision carries a cost.

The snowpack

This is the snowdepth map as of February 19th. The darker colors indicate deeper snow. As you can see, the region with the deepest snowpack is west-central Minnestota, a landscape which forms the headwaters of both the Red River and the Minnesota River. Both river valleys are likely to flood this spring, as they do most springs. But the National Weather Service emphasizes that the possibility for a serious flood this year is "almost certain." How serious? That depends on what happens in the next few weeks.

The plan

This is not the time for panic; it's the time for planning. Those are the words recently spoken by a local mayor who served his community brilliantly last spring. As such, people listen to him. The plan right now is to fill a million sandbags before the snow even melts, and have them stored safely in a warehouse nearby. Now we wait, listening to flood forecasts and the planned response.

In the meantime, winter continues as usual. The snowpack builds and the winds blow. Foxes and pheasants scamper on the hard crust. They fear no flood. But they wait and watch the weather, too. We all do.

The deep freeze

Around the Thanksgiving holiday every year, there are a few halting false starts. Snow swirls into flurries, and water experiments with a solid state. But the momentum of the winter season eventually reaches critical mass, and the big wheel turns. Then everything seems to crawl, as if the lack of heat freezes even the passage of time. It is not the end, however, but rather a rest. It is time for the land to sleep. Farmland gets few breaks from cultivation.

Surprise comes in the form of a mid-winter thaw. Raccoons crawl out of the big dead cottonwood to prowl the frozen riverbanks. Foxes bark for their mates. Skunks investigate culverts. Moods brighten and thaw as well. Everyone and everything has a different perspective on the deep freeze, as we rest and wait for the wheel of time to continue turning.