The questioning

It's that time of the year again, when the Grand Forks office of the National Weather Service begins to roll out spring flood forecasts. There is a high probability for significant flooding this year -- no surprises there.

2010 was the unofficial "year of floods" at our home. After the spring flood, we had periodic flash floods from rain events throughout the summer, and then another big rain event in the autumn. Add in a record number of tornadoes and swarms of mosquitoes, and you have a year to remember (even if you'd rather forget).

This winter, with its snowfall totals rising by the day and by the storm, is adding what will become inches of water on top of the soil still saturated from the previous autumn. Our insurance company informed us recently that when FEMA re-evaluated their flood maps, our property was determined to be in a zone more susceptible to serious floods than previously thought -- no surprises there either.

At some point, I don't know where or when exactly it was, I began to curse the people who built this house here. There are multitudes of better locations to choose from in this section of this township. In a floodplain such as ours, even a 100-meter shift in location can mean the difference between dust and mud. Why several generations of a family would choose to continue living in mud is a question that remains unanswered. In a sensible world, all parties involved with a vested interest, financial or emotional, would get together to buy this place out. Then, the land would remain a wetland sanctuary to the riparian plants and animals who belong here.

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.