The changing riverbank

Time is like a river. That's not just a metaphor. If time is impermanence in action, then a river is time played out with soil and water and vegetation. The channel is forever changing, the banks reshaped.

There was a deep water hole gouged out of the riverbed only yelling distance from our front door. Sucker minnows would school there, and the otters and mink would find it to be a fine fishing spot. After this spring flood, however, that hole has been filled with sand. The sloughing bank that was toppling trees and slowly creeping toward the house has stopped advancing. Now the river is sculpting the opposite bank, piling sand into a strange ridge pattern. Beavers are more active this spring than anytime in the past four years, which is how long we've lived here. That's not very long to a river.

The view from Grand Forks

Neat time-lapse photography of the Red River, January through April.



See the full-frame version here.

The view from Fargo

I had expected to have significant flood damage to report in the Fargo-Moorhead city limits. But due to the slow creep of the spring thaw, and the limited rainfall, the Red River crested lower than what was predicted by the NWS. The river level didn't even reach 39 feet, which makes it lower than the past two years. Both cities had been preparing for the worst possible scenario for weeks, even months. All of their diligent preparation paid off (see photos above). Therefore, disaster was averted. It really ended up feeling like just another major spring flood on a river that has one almost annually. There's your wet, silver lining.

The water runs downhill

The vernal pond in our front yard was growing by the day, fed by snowmelt and unable to drain completely because of the high river level on the other side of the levee. Oh, the transfer pump did its job and kept the shores from reaching our house, but those still waters run deep. Until last night. The river had ebbed enough to open the culvert gate and...whoosh! A stormy current of ice cold water rushed out to the river. The soil is still super-saturated though. Our sump pump in the basement cycles on and off constantly. It will take weeks for that to dry out.

The chorus of pumps

Last night, I heard the echoes of small gas engines running throughout the township, as farmers began to transfer pooling snowmelt from inside their earthen levees to the flowing water on the other side. Drainage culverts are gated and locked to prevent the flowing water from backing into farmyards.

I started my pump to join in the chorus. I ran it for a few hours until dusk. You don't run a trash pump while you sleep unless it's absolutely necessary. The pump could go dry and then seize up without the benefit of water to lubricate the moving parts.

Today, it appears that the south branch of the Wild Rice River crested around noon -- perhaps not for the last time. But a series of moderate crests over a period of days is better than a major deluge all at once. There also happens to be a river flowing in our basement from the saturated soils seeping through the foundation walls. The sump pump is triggered about every five minutes. I wonder when the basement will crest?

The flood is on

It's difficult to say when it actually began, because the slow overland melt has been occurring for about two weeks already. But the tipping point for major flooding surely was when the storm expected to bring snow over the weekend turned warmer and gave us rain instead. That's when the fields quickly turned liquid. From the air, I imagine the landscape looks like a giant thawing waffle, with the syrupy water overflowing from one section to another.

The field across the road from our house crested last night. It might sound strange to talk about a farm field having a flood crest, but this time of year, every piece of land has potential for temporary water storage. The road leading from our house to the nearest town appears to be safe. But the river continues to rise, first quickly, then slowly.