The Flood, 2025
Firebox Dreams 4.15.25
this is a coda a rest: the river does not stop it only goes & goes & goes &
The river dropped Wednesday, April 9th, 2025. At its crest, the flood waters reached approximately 37 feet at Louisville. The original projection of 35 feet was exceeded here thanks to the opening of 10 flood gates at Dix Dam on the Kentucky River, incorrectly attributed as an unscheduled event.
I left work on Friday April 4th, leaving the boat on staging stretched across the wharf parking lot to River Road. It was understood that the rising waters would most likely wash out the staging, but the deck crew set it up anyway because that’s part of our flood response plan. When the water gets too high for the staging, we row in on jon boats.
The rising waters attract people who are intrigued by the river “misbehaving.” But the river never really misbehaves. The people who track floods and high water events compare each one to either the 1997 flood, and sometimes, the 1937 flood. The high water we get over the winter gets some attention, but never as much as in the spring. April is the time of year when the city ceases to belong to those of use who live here. Thunder Over Louisville, a giant fireworks and air show over the Ohio River, traditionally opens Derby Season. Downtown is flooded with tourists, in drawn by the new casino and slew of nondescript, pyrite and steel plated steak and bourbon restaurants, brew pubs, and bourbon trail paraphernalia set up like bug lights. We on the river are somewhere in the story the chamber of commerce sells, but the only people who appreciate or understand what the Belle means are local. When locals come down to see the flood water, they thank us for taking care of her, and seem to understand that there’s some element of danger in what we do when the river’s fallen out of bed.
For the tourists and news media, we’re all just part of the show. News cameras come down to take film of up rowing from the steps of the Belvedere to the Belle. We’re part of the opening or closing credits. We’re not supposed to talk to the media, so I don’t give interviews. A camera man did ask us once when we were going to row across so he could get it on film.
“Don’t worry,” I muttered. “We’ll risk our lives so you can get a video bit.”
watching the drift is not much different than watching clouds: all joining and parting breaking up continents building new worlds in your mind
I spent most of my breaks and a part of my lunch every day watch the drift in the water. There was a particularly large tree limb that got caught up on a lamp post near the Mayor Andrew Broaddus. It became a catch point for smaller pieces of driftwood, which, as it built up, would turn the limb around the lamppost like the hands of a broken clock.
The log would pivot like a leaky valve for the the better part of my lunch. One of the younger seasonal deckhands, Ben, kept trying to break it up my using a spike pole. I kept trying to get it to turn clockwise and away using the power of my mind, like one does when cloud or driftwood watching. Eventually I had to go back to work and when I looked again in a few hours, the driftwood cloud was gone.
the world washes over me, often waves of conversations I must remind myself there is purpose in holding on cars and tugs and trains sweep by dreams on their way to other imaginations the river pushes past, all apparitions following the currents south to the delta at Cairo where I am told where I must remember dreams went to die and those who hung on with them
High water isn’t unusual this time of year. Last year it delayed the season by three weeks, giving us the chance to paint. We’ve been doing some cleaning and painting this year, too. When there’s high water, the only thing we have to do is maintain the lines and, in the case of a historic flood, maintain the generators on the Belle and the Broaddus until we can connect to shore power again. It’s a waiting game. But working on the river means sometimes waiting on the river to do what it’s going to. The days sweep down river along with driftwood, pieces of rotten dock from upriver, part of a shed; ducks and Canada Geese swim triumphant on River Road. This time of year there’s only so much you can schedule and plan on; even when it isn’t a flood year, we’re all waiting on the river.