Climate Change and Me

In December of 2015, torrential rains caused parts of the St. Louis area to be evacuated.  Bill and I were on vacation and saw it on TV. “We made the national news,” I exclaimed. 

I was dismayed when we arrived home. A great swath of the wall-to-wall carpeting in our basement had been soaked in that round of rains. As I understand: after the rain completely saturated the clay soil around our house, it had nowhere else to go but into our basement. 

Our daughter and son-in-law, who had been dutifully checking on our house, explained, “It looked okay. We didn’t realize anything was wrong until the smell.” Our basement smelled of swamp, mildew and mold. I cried.  

Then, after days of downpour, my neighbor’s yard was swept all the way down into the retention pond behind his home. Overnight, what had been a sloping green lawn – sloping admittedly – became an ugly expanse of mud. 

I have never been a climate denier. It’s just that I didn’t string together local, individual weather misfortunes as part of a climate trend. Somehow, after stewing about climate change in the abstract for years, I was shocked when the increase of worldwide temperatures hit me and my neighborhood. How could I not have seen it coming? 

Our house runs the risk of repeated flash flooding and slippage from soil erosion. By now, though, this ranch-style has been home to Bill and me for thirty years. And since the start of Covid, when I began my daily neighborhood walks, I’ve gotten to know and love the contours of my hilly subdivision. I am loath to move. 

In an earlier blog, I discussed Madeleine Ostrander’s 2023 book At Home on an Unruly Planet.  She explains the large-scale environmental and human repercussions of climate change: fires and droughts in the West; hurricanes and ocean rise on the East and Gulf Coast; and melting permafrost in Alaska.  

Ostrander also offers chapters on the small scale: what is the meaning of “home?” Home is not just the physical structure and all your belongings, although that isn’t nothing. Home is also your family’s history, your cultural heritage, your sense of belonging. What does it mean to lose all that? 

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I assumed that what happened to our basement and my neighbor’s yard were just flukes. A new “normal” of more extreme weather did not cross my mind. We installed drains tiles to divert water away from the house. Our neighbor built a huge retaining wall and, at great expense, put in sod. We installed piers. 

In 2022, we built a covered porch so that we could “Covid” entertain. That summer, I was upset by how many days of over-110 degree “heat index” days we had. Heat dome, they called it.  When it happened again the next summer, I saw the pattern. 

The weather in 2023 was not a repeat of 2022. It was worse! Last summer St. Louis suffered, not one, but two 500-year floods. Flood waters tore through streets, drowned cars and inundated homes. Also, we had prolonged record high temperatures. 

It is ironic that we’ve also been in a drought the past two years. The prolonged, severe heat depletes moisture. When the rains do come, they come so “fast and furious” that the soil can’t absorb the water, or the ground is already saturated. Hence, the erosion and flooding. 

What is to be done? 

For starters, repairs!  On my walks around the neighborhood, I have seen so many trucks for basement repair, water damage restoration, and drainage work. I’ve seen patches for driveway cave-ins and street potholes. Sump pumps are popular.

Another result of torrential rains has been trees – grown tall from so much rain – toppling over. One morning, I saw a tree trunk leaning at an impossible angle. Thirty seconds later, there was a huge crash. That day, the trees on my usual walking route felt dangerous.

Lots of neighbors are cutting down trees preemptively. I am ambivalent about that. In theory, trees are a benefit – soaking up rain, cooling the atmosphere, retaining soil. On the other hand, I worry that one day the big oak six feet from my porch will crush me.

I commend our subdivision trustees for fixing the drainage from the dirt-filled retention pond. During really hard rains, the overflow formed a rushing river over the common ground grass. Now, a stone path takes the water directly to the newly-cleared drainage pipe. I am grateful that my neighbors voted for it, even as it doubled our annual assessment. 

Here is my advice. If you have an infrastructure issue, DON’T WAIT! If a tiny fissure opens up in the earth, fill it. If there’s a little crack in the concrete, seal it. Water is relentless. 

Individual life-style changes feel puny. Yet, if every family carries that intention and makes some changes, the effects could be powerful. Personally, I limit eating beef to once a week. Beef production causes 8-10 times the amount of greenhouse gases as pork or poultry. I minimize the use of plastics. We drive a hybrid. We installed a tankless water heater and added attic insulation. 

I am heartened by collective actions. My town, Creve Coeur, just instituted a “Storm Water Cost-Share Plan” that defrays some of the cost of larger projects. I know, I know – not every city can afford that.

And I vote. As much as I hate the bureaucrats at Metropolitan Sewer District, I vote for rate increases these days. I vote up and down the ballot for people who understand that our community must gird ourselves – financially and in terms of infrastructure – against the ravages of the coming climate disasters. 

We can expect rain, rain and more rain, resulting in flash floods, house floods, and crumbling bridges, highways, and driveways. More severe tornados. Hotter summers. Crummier air quality from wildfires and ozone. Oh, yeah – insurance rates will skyrocket!

We in the Midwest, by the way, are the lucky ones. Our communities won’t be consumed in giant wildfires or run out of water or be drowned by the rising sea. 

It’s taken me ten years and many climate disasters to realize that there’s no going back to the longed-for “normal.” This knowledge motivates me to extract every bit of enjoyment out my life right now. 

For me, it’s walking and observing nature in my neighborhood. I delight in the spring blooms – magnolia, redbud, dogwood, azalea, quince, cherry, lilacs. I watch the birds – elegant herons and noisy crows, shy hooded mergansers and chattering kingfishers, soaring red-tailed hawks and gliding vultures, busy woodpeckers. I even get a thrill when sleet slams me in the face in the winter. Because I am experiencing it! 

Tell me: What climate trends do you see in your neighborhood?