A year later
</element><element id="paragraph-1" type="body"><![CDATA[The head of American International Group was on CNN testifying before Congress when I was home for lunch Wednesday. He was explaining why AIG employees had been given millions of dollars in retention bonuses after being given $170 billion in taxpayer money to survive.
The talk began to make my stomach churn so I decided to eat my lasagna and V8 juice in the peace of the backyard.
The ends of tiny limbs were still on the picnic table where the squirrels had chewed them off earlier, several bouncing off my head and shoulders before I figured out what was going on.
The black kitten somehow had gotten underneath the deckboards under me and was squealing for help, so after what I considered to be a selfless and heroic rescue, she thanked me by trying to eat my lasagna out of my bowl. Then after I growled her away she leapt over the fence back into the neighbor's yard and went back under the deck.
When I went back inside the cat walked up nonchalantly behind me, stripping me of any pride I had taken in my rescue effort.
The weather Wednesday sure was nicer than on that date last year, when the water rose. My first inkling this was no regular flood was when the fire department started sandbagging at Brookstone Estates. I wasted my time in taking photographs of the effort, unable to reach the apartment complex in my little car because the road was under feet of water. The photographs are still on a folder on my desktop. The images of Rick Mallady and John Gunning are smeared and unfocused due to the downpour splattering my camera lens.
The spectacle of that flood is unforgettable. The land was a lake over miles of cornfields. People boating around town was a common sight.
For days there was a crowd of photographers on the bank at Parker Plaza. The people all wore the same expression of awe. This was not supposed to happen. They were seeing history.
It was too early to be thinking about clean up. It had not yet set in with the photographers they may have been seeing the end of commerce in their town. It had also not set in there may not be enough food available to feed everyone in the county.
As a newspaper man, it was hard to figure out what to do. Another car is flooded out and police can't reach them. Do you go over there or try to reach the evacuation effort at Century Estates? Do you go to Dorrisville Baptist Church to interview evacuees housed there? Do you take photos of flooded buildings for the sake of history? Do you go to the next briefing of the mayor? Can you drive through that street safely? Your brakes are wet. Can you stop at the intersection or will you slide into the intersection? How do you decide where it is most important to be when there are crises in progress everywhere?
The earlier flooding in February was a spectacle without much damage except to roads. The March flooding was a different sort of beast. It was scary and could have had a much worse outcome. We could have had raw sewage floating in the water and illness.
Some of us were in survival mode.
A year later things are back to what is generally considered normal. Flood victim's budgets are squeezed by paying back loans for rebuilding. We have flood insurance. It is costly, but much cheaper than taking out a $40,000 loan to repair a house that collapsed into a basement.
The flood forced me to realize something about socio-economics and geography in Harrisburg. Sadly, those hurt worst by flood damage are the ones who can afford repairs the least. Looking at the flooded areas and the high areas, for the most part the trailers are in the flood zone. The fine houses are on the hills.
The sun was shining on March 18 of this year. Cats were wallowing in it on their backs. Squirrels were chewing at the buds on the trees. A bee circled a dandelion. The temperature was almost uncomfortably warm. Thunderstorms are in the forecast.