And the Waters Come Back

Good God, Internet - it has been an exhausting couple of days here in Central Michigan. . .

Yesterday evening, following a couple of days of heavy - but not unheard of - levels of rain, the dam up in Edenville collapsed.  Now, while this is indeed quite a ways away from Midland, it's part of a greater system of water that travels quite a distance from Northern Michigan down through Saginaw.  This dam failure was not an isolated incident: shortly after the Edenville Dam collapse, Sanford's own dam faced 'imminent dam failure.'  This would effectively drain Sanford lake, right on down the Tittabawassee River, through Midland, and on to Saginaw.  A torrent of water, destroying everything in its path.

We had all thought that the Flood of 2017 was bad (if you'll recall) - it was a '500-year-flood,' the worst on record behind the Flood of 1986.  Remember that?

Well, this blew both out of the water (no pun intended.)

While the rain levels weren't nearly as high, human negligence was astronomical.  The dam owners who operated this system of dams repeatedly ignored State and Federal regulators who fined them for the dams not being up to code.  It was cheaper to pay the fines that fix them entirely, so the dams continued to crumble and degrade.  And following a couple days of heavy rain - nothing apocalyptic, mind you - the dominoes began to fall.

Crazy that this popped up in my Facebook. . .

Now, we Houghs were out on our regular evening stroll with the Johnson family when the Emergency Alerts (see above) began to blow up our phones.  Alayna and the dogs were once again staying back at the house (the Cannonball isn't big on the family walks), Abby and Ella were rollerskating on ahead of us, Courtney and Kris were catching up on gossip, and Erik and I were enjoying our pipes and a few beers as we brought up the rear, moseying through the empty streets of the Chestnut Hill neighborhood.

We were walking along when the first alert came up on our phones.  Shortly afterwards, another evacuation notice flashed.  Then another.  By the time we had made it over to our friends' house, the Colliers, the Edenville Dam had bursts and Sanford's was on the brink.  Helicopters roared overhead as if we were in a war-zone - army copters, news copters, you name it - all scrambling west as fast as they could fly.  Although we were on the far-east side of town - the highest, driest part of the community you could find - the impending doom that was getting closer and closer with each passing moment was nerve-racking.

I joked that this is what it must've felt like for the occupants of Atlanta as they continually received news of Sherman's approaching army in 1864.

After having a few beers with Ryan and his wife in their driveway - and all devouring any piece of news we could as it developed - we made our way home and parted ways with the Johnsons.  Upon getting home, Kris and I decided to start moving things out of the basement as a precaution.  As you know, we had a little water in our basement back in 2017 (fortunately, less than a half-inch, and it was isolated in the storage room), but this time a whole series of dams had been breached, and an ungodly amount of water was headed our way.  We wanted to err on the side of caution, so for the next five hours we moved everything of value up and out of the basement.  Check it out:

Around 1:30am, after hours of moving our valuables out of the basement, this was the state of the Study.  Photo albums, swords, dresses, musical instruments, you name it.

Some items were either two heavy to move upstairs on our own (the treadmill, that futon), or otherwise deemed expendable (the dvd shelving, etc.)

We planned on getting about 3 feet of water, worst case scenario (hence the nicer furniture being stacked on top of the expendable furniture.)

The bottom rows cleared out (in the event the water continued to rise, we could then empty the upper compartments.)

The Captain's Quarters was nearly impossible to clear out, as it's jam-packed, floor to ceiling, with stuff.  A lot of the stuff left here were the lesser-valuable stuff I could afford to replace if I had to.

Top-quality lodging in the basement.

To take things a step further, I set up a cot in the basement, right by the sump-pump, just so that I would be able to act quickly in case the house began to flood.  Didn't get a lot of sleep that night by any means (obviously), but fortunately it was an unnecessary precaution:  we didn't get a drop of water in our basement the entire night, during the worst of the flooding.

We were incredibly lucky, to be sure, but as morning broke over Midland County, we realized that tens of thousands of our fellow residents weren't nearly so fortunate. . .

The Tittabawassee all but swallowed up the Tridge (shown here.)

The surrounding banks on either side of the river were completely underwater, reaching all the way out to M-20 (at far right.)

The water went all the way up to the back of the county courthouse (at bottom right.)

Nice of Midland schools to realize there were probably a lot of folks unable to focus on schoolwork at a time like this. . . 

The H Hotel, at bottom left, was spared, but the series of parking lots behind it were all swallowed up. . .

That green ring you see here is all that remains of the city's Farmer's Market.

My Lodge, fortunately, was spared.  It's the oldest organization in town - in existence since the lumber days, well before Dow was ever a thing - so to lose our historic building would've been a disaster (the red arrow above is pointing to the Larkin Building, where we hold our monthly meetings.)

The Tridge, barely functional.

The insane flood waters attracted a ton of gawkers the following day.  This shouldn't surprise anyone.

Local news stations - and even some national ones - quickly descended on the scene. . .

Immense pressure in the city's western water mains created mini-geysers like this all over the place.

No parking?  That's a given.

The Courthouse was spared, fortunately - that's another one of the city's historical buildings that would've been a shame to see ravaged by floodwater.

The city had deployed several of these to shore up the downtown sector as the waters rose throughout the night.  Fortunately, the Sanford dam - while breached - held out throughout the night, so the torrent of damaging water that would've exploded downstream had it failed never reached downtown.

The Upper Bridge, north of M-20.

Sanford Dam (or what's left of it.)

The Western reaches of Midland were definitely pounded, and we knew lots of people who lost nearly everything, but for all the damage that the city suffered in this flood, it was nothing compared to what happened to Sanford.  The entire city was destroyed, and I doubt it'll ever recover completely.

ABC's Good Morning America is even covering this.  Check it out here.

- Brian

Back to Camp

Sanford Campgrounds

Hey guys.

I know I've mentioned this before, once or twice, but Yours Truly grew up at the Community of Christ (formerly the RLDS) Campgrounds on Sanford Lake.  Every summer, for a couple weeks, from my Pre-K years until I went off for the Peace Corps.

This entailed camping with my family and annual church reunions, but also attending summer camps, from my elementary school years until I had graduated high school (though I did miss out on my last year of Senior High Camp due to a trip to Mexico before my freshman year at WMU. . . but I did stop by to say hi to everyone.)

All Hail the D.

In college, I returned during my summers off from class to serve as a camp counselor, always with the stipulation that I got to run my old cabin from my Jr. High and Sr. High camps, the infamous Cabin D.  I counseled four times during college, and once I even served as an Assistant Director of a camp, right before I left for Africa.  It should go without saying that by the age of 23 I knew every square foot of these campgrounds like the back of my hand, could navigate throughout it completely blindfolded, and had a memory connected to every tree, bench, and building on the grounds.

Then, for the following 12 years or so, I didn't set foot on the grounds - aside from Alayna's blessing in 2009 -  and it underwent many changes.  New buildings were erected, old ones were torn down, etc.  Finally, in 2017, I returned to these hallowed grounds when my mom offered to take the girls up to the annual Reunion, which she did the following year as well.

The last three summers or so, I've had old camp friends - now directing their own youth camps - reach out to me and ask if I'd want to serve as a cabin counselor again.  Male counselors - good ones, at any rate - are hard to come by, and I like to think I'm somewhat of a legend up there.  The last three times they've asked, I've either a.) been working at Delta teaching illustration and animation, b.) traveling/vacationing with family, or c.) otherwise couldn't anyone to watch my kids, seeing how Kris works during the day.

Then this year, finally, everything clicked into place.

My old camp buddy, Angie, was serving as a co-director, and asked desperately for my help.  And this time, I agreed.  So long, said I, as I got to be the head counselor of my old cabin.

And it was so.

Here's a wrap-up from my week in the woods, wrangling a bunch of teenagers.  I didn't upload nearly as many as I could have (on account of kids being in photos, etc.) - but it should give you a pretty good idea as to what the camp was like.  I plan on doing it again next year, and already have childcare all lined up and ready for my next year's week in the woods.

Behold - Sanford Junior High Camp 2019. . .

Back in action for another tour of duty leading this Cabin of Awesome.  Since my old rivals, Cabin C, had its quonset hut ripped down a few years ago (it was built during World War II, and needed to go), it was rechristened 'Cabin D.'  While this was indeed upsetting, the old Cabin D was rechristened 'Cabin E,' which is also a legendary cabin.  In camps of the mid/late-90s, there used to be so many campers that there were three girl cabins (A - C) and two boy cabins (D and E.)  All that mattered was that you were in the last letter of boy cabin, so if there was ever an E, I was in it.  And now all you guys know that stupid trivial tidbit of information about which cabin I stayed at in the '90s.  You're welcome.

Even though it's been renamed Cabin E now, the old D is still emblazoned across the outside walls. . .

Some old man swung up to the campgrounds the first day of camp with a drone camera and took this picture of our assembled camp outside the Dining Hall.

One of the new changes that has emerged in Junior High Camps over recent years has been the introduction of color groups, which combine male and female campers.  This enables counselors to form more relationships with campers outside their own cabin.  Whereas you used to tackle bathroom/shower house cleanups, KP duty, and grounds clean-up by Cabin, now these are done by color groups.  I, personally, was a big fan of this change - there's more of a 'team spirit' that's built, especially that theme classes, camp-wide activities and competitions are all done in the same color group.  Mine placed second-place this year (a crock, really - point-wise we should've scored first, but whatever.) 

I took a lot of pictures throughout the campgrounds, if only to preserve them pictorially for my own self-interest.  God knows how this place is going to change over the next few years. . .

The Boys Bathroom.  I've cleaned this thing so many times it's practically ingrained in my DNA at this point.

Sanford Lake.  As you can see here, they cut back a bunch of the weeds and undergrowth back from the fence to make access to the lake easier from the fence.

Cabin D E, and the Junior Auditorium.

The Girls' Bathroom.  I've spent a fair time in this one as well. . . usually to trash it, sabotaging the girls' efforts at cleaning it for competitions.

See the two new cabins, the two at the right?  That's the new Cabin C and D.  Eventually they'll be tearing down the original Cabin B (second from left), as it's dilapidated and no longer usable as a living space.  Once that's torn down and a new cabin built, all the cabins will bump up a letter.

 

Want a tour of the Boy's Bathroom?  Of course you do. . .

Hasn't changed much in the twenty-some years since I was a camper here.  Which is both cool, and disgusting.

The carvings and graffiti from previous years has sadly been removed when they put up fresher walls.  My name was all over the place in here.

These old concrete floors are a complete pain in the ass to sweep and mop.  Still.

The Tabernacle.  They opened up the windows of this place a lot, as we had ourselves a pretty hot week up at camp this year.  Every bit of ventilation helps.

The Dining Hall

The Bell

Dinner KP with Red Group

This year I was put in charge of a Drawing class - which ended up being a glorified sit, chill and sketch class, nothing too instructional for a camp - and Canoeing class.  Unfortunately, the campgrounds only had two canoes still in serviceable condition (pretty sure they've been at Sanford since the '60s.  We made the mistake of putting a rowboat in the lake the first day of class, but it was next to impossible for campers to use.  We ended up booting four campers for class until there were only four left for Canoe class.  Unless they get more canoes before next summer - which is highly unlikely - I'm gonna refrain from teaching this one again.

There were two golf carts up there for staff to use throughout the week, so Yours Truly logged in a lot of time driving these bad boys around the grounds.  The experience has only reinforced my desire to someday end up in a senior retirement community where I get to drive one around wherever I go.

Sunset over Sanford Lake. . .

The Tabernacle, with the windows shuttered.

This amount of lakeside real estate has to be worth a pretty penny indeed. . .

Staff gets to step in and handle kitchen duties on a regular basis.  I'm basically a pro at this point.

The Waterfront.  See the Paddle Boat down to the right, there?  It was water-logged and unusable all week, but one night it broke free from its rope tether and drifted across the entirety of Sanford Lake, where it beached.  Upon discovering its new location the next day, my Canoe class and I rowed across the whole lake, dodging speed boats and jet skis, and were able to partially drain it of water.  I then, SINGLE-HANDEDLY - pulled that 300-lb boat behind my canoe (tied with a rope), carrying two kids in it and everything, back across the entirety of Sanford Lake.  It took two hours.  An epic heroir feat.

It took me and another adult, and a few male campers, to haul a water-logged row boat out of the water and back onto land.  I'm never dealing with that bullshit again.

The state of boating affairs at Sanford Campgrounds.

Master of the Not-So-High Seas.

Inside Cabin E - that's my bunk to the left of the door, right where I can monitor campers coming and going in the night.

New bunk beds, though - they finally threw out the old, prison-style bunks a year or two ago.  About damn time, if you ask me.

I always liked having an empty bunk above me to house all my crap.

The staff this year.

They gave all the campers either a 'costume' or a random kitchen utensil (a whisker, a plastic straw, a set of tongs, a can opener, etc.) with which to eat a spaghetti dinner for their 'Sloppy Dinner' of the week.  I lucked out, getting the 'baby costume' - I got a bib, a bottle, and a baby fork/spoon set.  Rock and roll.

This air conditioner serves no real purpose except for supplying white noise to the cabin.  It doesn't cool the air for shit.

We had some volunteers come in at one point in time during the week with dozens of fishing poles so the kids could learn to fish - that was a pretty popular activity with the kids, being able to fish right in Sanford Lake.

For one particular field day activity, they bought a bunch of balloons for the kids.  Of course, whomever did this, didn't bother to give a second thought to the color of the balloons - whatever's cheapest works, right?  Well, having taught middle schoolers for nearly 14 years now, I can assure you that condom-colored balloons aren't going to go over very well. . .

The last campfire of the week.  I freaked out more than one camper by telling them they were sitting on the ashes of my dead grandparents (whose ashes were spread throughout this area.)

Some artiness during the last campfire. . .

Another bitchin' sunset over Sanford Lake. . .

Some new prayer/meditation spot that was built at a past camp or reunion or something.

The morning we broke camp for the week, I found a pair of underwear lying on the walkway.  When you come across something like that, you really have no choice but to run them up a flagpole.

The old quonset huts, for the moment still standing.

Cabin B.  Back in the day, all the hot girls at camp used to stay in Cabin B.

It's days are numbered, though.  No longer habitable.

They use it for storage nowadays, and it smells like it.

One last shot of Cabin E, my home away from home, shortly before I left Sanford for the civilization of Midland.  I already plan on counseling next year, as this week was a rewarding experience and reminded me of a part of my life that I hadn't given much thought to in the last fifteen years or so.  Tradition must be upheld.

A celebratory beer-and-pipe session on my back patio, after a week of dealing with teenage bullshit in the woods.

- Brian