Texas Strong

Over the last week, I’ve rewritten this piece three or four times, yet I know it still will not do justice—or fully convey—the extent of the destruction.

I have never seen devastation on this scale. Growing up on the East Coast, I was used to hurricanes passing through every year, with one every few years causing serious damage to land and towns. But those storms always came with a warning—a forecast, a heads-up, a way to prepare.

In Texas, it was different. What was supposed to be just a few inches of heavy rain on the Fourth of July turned into feet of relentless, torrential downpour, causing havoc with no warning, no signs—just devastation, appearing in the blink of an eye. In the middle of the night, the river rose more than a dozen feet, unleashing a tidal wave of destruction. Even days later, the true impact of the disaster was still unknown, with each day revealing even more damage.

Having lived in Texas for only a short time, I did not know many people directly affected by the floods. However, being just 30 minutes away in a town north of Kerrville, the damage was impossible to miss—it showed in the people, the community, the culture, and the surrounding landscape.

I was a little nervous about going down to Kerrville to help with recovery work because of what I might find or see, especially unearthing and clearing. The devastation was overwhelming: so many lives lost, so many people still unaccounted for. Still, I felt that when duty calls, you go. This was one of those times. It unsettled me that, while I was at work, my Dad and so many others were volunteering to help with recovery and clean-up. So, on my first day off, I joined my Dad and headed down to help.

Working with the Center Point fire station was an experience like no other. Outside, tents were set up with people cooking huge amounts of food to feed everyone. Inside, all the fire station bay doors were open: on one side, tables were loaded with nonperishable and perishable food; on the other, shelves were filled with every kind of equipment you could imagine—from chainsaws, blades, and oil to socks, electrolytes, and digging tools—all ready and waiting for volunteers. People brought what they had, including machines and heavy tools and many even rented (just for donations) tractors, skid steers, and various machinery. Nonprofit organizations like the Cajun Navy, Salvation Army, and countless volunteers from across Texas and The South joined the efforts with even a 13

person crew of highly skilled search-and-rescue firefighters from Mexico, composed of members of the Rescate Acuático de Protección Civil y Bomberos de Acuña Coahuila. No matter who they were or where they came from, people did whatever they could—organizing food, stacking tools, working recovery, directing traffic, or simply helping other volunteers. Everyone pitched in.

The sheer scale of destruction is unfathomable. I cannot put it into words. The river gained nearly thirty feet that night—anything within its reach is gone. Houses, cars, trucks, RVs, trees—all swept away by the force of the water. Trees that had stood for centuries were ripped from the ground and stacked forty feet high, like driftwood. Massive eighteen-wheelers were wrapped around trees like aluminum foil.

Even as I write this, my words feel inadequate. The damage is so staggering that describing it almost makes it sound less than it is... The floodwaters of the Guadalupe River surged so quickly, rising twenty-six feet in less than an hour in places, and leaving scenes of total devastation across Kerr County and beyond. And this only describes the physical destruction; the emotional and mental toll—as well as the tragic loss of life—is something that cannot be fathomed or understood. The heartbreak families are enduring is unthinkable.

What I have observed during and since the flood has been absolutely astonishing: Never have I witnessed an entire community, county, state, and region rally around those in need like what I am seeing here and now. While volunteering, I met people from all over; neighbors from nearby towns, folks from four hours away in Dallas, people from Austin, East and West Texas, and even a team with a cadaver dog from Mississippi. The effort truly proved how much people will do for each other in times of crisis, no matter what.

If you are able, or in a position to help, please consider donating to one of the many relief funds or find another way to contribute. Every little bit makes a difference.