#ThursdayTreeLove - Blight

The Norway maple that has been in our front yard for some 30 years, apparently, has some kind of blight.  Many maples in this area are suddenly not looking good, possibly because of excess rain, but our tree is losing all of its leaves. That's some two months ahead of schedule.

We've had no time to check out the possible cause.  We've had wet summers before.  We just don't know.  I can't find anything in an internet search about a maple blight.  We need to call our extension service but that becomes one more item on a long list of "to-do's" as family caregivers.

 Last year, in fact, we had an arborist look at it,  just in case, and it was declared healthy.  So now, we don't know what is happening, and are worried.

Join Parul and other bloggers every Thursday for #ThursdayTreeLove.  All you ned to do to join in is post a picture of a tree and link back.

 Come love a tree today.

Easter Yellow

Today, for my Christian readers, it is Easter Sunday.

For today, honoring what should be a beautiful day in upstate New York, yellow spring flowers for you.

First, yellow tulips that started to bloom just after I had posted for Garden Bloggers Bloom Day yesterday.

Early daffodils in our yard.

Forsythia.

Daffodils.

This is a viola basket spouse and I gave to his mother.

Happy Easter, if you celebrate it.

Happy Spring!

180 Pages

This is a reworking and updating of a post I first published in October of 2014. 

I'm looking at 180 pages that try to spell out my neighborhood's future.  As flooding becomes more and more of a threat each year, worldwide, due to changing climate, we all may face this one day. 

What is a neighborhood, anyway?

A website defines neighborhood as follows:

The term neighborhood has many meanings and uses. For example, neighborhood can be used to refer to the small group of houses in the immediate vicinity of one's house or to a larger area with similar housing types and market values.
Neighborhood is also used to describe an area surrounding a local institution patronized by residents, such as a church, school, or social agency. It can also be defined by a political ward or precinct. The concept of neighborhood includes both geographic (place-oriented) and social (people-oriented) components.

On September 7 and 8, 2011, my neighborhood of Westover, near Johnson City, flooded due to two tropical storms just a few days apart, dropping a total of 13 inches of rain.  The flood capped the rainiest summer on record.

Many houses were ruined and abandoned.  In 2014, demolition began, finally, of once cherished houses that were now only rotting eyesores.  By law, the land those houses sit on must remain undeveloped, or developed into something like a park or other green space.

In a meeting I attended in 2013, speakers explained that demolition, if not done right, can ruin a neighborhood.  What will be left, after demolition, is some streets with only several occupied houses, and large gaps in between.  Houses, and neighbors, become isolated.  Ways are being discussed to mitigate that, because a neighborhood is more than just a collection of houses.

One thing I learned from the meeting is that there are ways to handle potential flood damage. Zoning laws where we live, for example, require businesses to have a certain number of parking spaces for cars.  Those spaces are paved, and rain can not penetrate conventional paving.  But there is something called permeable paving, which would allow the movement of storm water into the ground. (There was also discussion of the fact that zoning laws tend to require more parking spaces than are normally needed.)




A neighborhood must be in harmony with the natural world around it.

Along with the residences, there was damage to a building once occupied by some 1200 workers, a building owned by the Air Force and rented to BAE Systems, Inc.  That building (actually several buildings joined together) was some 600,000. square feet, one of the largest wood framed building in the United States.

It awaited its fate after it was announced, in November of 2011 that it could not be repaired.  Without a definite plan, my neighborhood will never be able to move forward into the future.   In 2016, demolition began, and now, it is complete.  A few demolition workers remain, hauling in landfill and leveling the site.  I expect it will be done by this spring.

Then what?

Of course, those 1200 workers will never be returning to my neighborhood.  Right now, they are in buildings a few miles down the road, but BAE may decide to leave our area all together. 

We need businesses to return.  We need their tax dollars.  

A neighborhood needs jobs.

What remains

 So what happens after demolition?

That is where the 180 pages comes in.  There are grand plans for those 30 acres- mixed use residential/commercial use, a movie theatre, ball parks.

The drawing even shows a farmers market.

I have mixed feelings about this plan.  Would I, for example, want to live in a place that, just five and a half years ago, was under several feet of water for a couple of days, no matter how many flood control techniques are used in its building? 

Not many of us get to plan the future of our neighborhood - a plan that, for us, must take climate change into account.  

On the other hand, I fear that what will happen to the former BAE site is what happens to so many projects in New York State - lots of talk, but no action.

A neighborhood needs vision.  But it also needs the implementation of the vision. 

As I look over the large vacant area, I try to be optimistic about the future.

Still Dreaming the Impossible Dream

Every gardener has his or her impossible dream.  Some of us try to grow a plant that the experts say just can't be grown, just to see if it could be done.

Years ago, when my spouse was in the military, we were stationed in Wichita, Kansas.   There, we met a fellow airman, Jim.  Jim had grown up in West Virginia.  He missed two things terribly:  bluegrass and azaleas.  Neither grow well in Wichita, a hot, windy climate.

Jim tried.  And he failed.  But he tried.

For me, in zone 5b upstate New York near Binghamton, the impossible dream is the camilla, a beautiful flower that is not supposed to grow here.  The climate isn't right.  It gets too cold.  I thought I saw one once in Brooklyn, although it was past the blooming season.   But Brooklyn is in hardiness zone 6b.  I've never seen one here in the Binghamton area.

So, of course, spouse and I decided we had to try.

In April of 2015, my spouse and I traveled to a camilla nursery in North Carolina where they specialize in cold hardy camillas.  We bought one, called April Rose.

After the buds already formed opened and bloomed, new buds grew.

In 2016, despite animals (we suspect squirrels), our camilla bloomed, for the first time, on upstate New York flower buds.

But, after that, buds never grew in the summer of 2016.  I suspect the plant isn't getting enough sun in our back yard, where we had to put it so it would have a chance to survive the winter.

This is what our April Rose looked like on February 18.  No buds.

It will not bloom this April.  Maybe, buds will grow or next year.

You know what?  I'm still dreaming that impossible dream, that April Rose will bloom again for me one day.

A Study in Contrast

Saturday, November 19, 2016, the Southern Tier of upstate New York.

Witch hazel in bloom in the 67 degree F weather (19.4 degrees Celsius).

The next day.

Sunday afternoon.   Snow on the scarecrow and southernwood plant.

On planters.

And then the snow REALLY started to fall.  So far, officially, we have over 15 inches.

Not bad for the first snow of the season.

Five cities in upstate New York compete for a "golden snowball" award each year.  For once, I don't appreciate us being in first place.

Because, gee, it's still fall.  Isn't it?

Day 22 of NaBloPoMo.

Throwback Sunday-September 11, 2011 I Am So Grateful

I dedicate today's post to "Miss Norma", a woman in her 90's with terminal cancer who has been traveling the United States in a motor home with her son and daughter in law.  It has now become apparent that the end of being on this Earth is near for Miss Norma.   But the last year of her life has brought so much adventure to her - and so much gratitude for all that have been reading the posts of her family.

Godspeed, Miss Norma.  As your family wrote on Facebook yesterday, "We cannot control the wind but we can direct the sail.” —unknown."

Today, I rerun a post from September 11, 2011, the 10th anniversary of what we call "9/11" in the United States.  But September 11, 2011 had a different meaning for me.  This is the fifth anniversary of my returning home from vacation after a natural disaster hit my area of New York State.

My first post from September 11, 2011 was yesterday.  This, with minor edits, was my second post.

The events of September 11, 2011 gave "9/11" a whole new meaning for me and my spouse.  It is the anniversary of a homecoming.  The day before, we drove over seven and a half hours from Maine to upstate New York, knowing our neighborhood had been flooded September 7-8.  We weren't able to arrive in time to beat a curfew, and police would not allow us back into our neighborhood.  We had to drive another 35 minutes just to find a motel room.  But now, September 11, 2011, we are let in, and our not knowing is about to end.

We have come home and I write the below post from my home computer because - another miracle - we have power.

For my faithful readers, thank you for bearing with me during this week of remembering.  Is it strange that I returned to my flooded neighborhood with a feeling of - gratitude?

Sunrise 9-8-16

September 11, 2011 - I Am So Grateful

I am so grateful today.

 Some of you may be getting tired of my recent posts about a storm called Lee and the over 10 inches of rain dumped on the Binghamton, New York area a few days ago (on top of what we had received from Tropical Storm Irene), causing flash floods and then record river flooding.  But it is very real to me and to over 20,000 people evacuated from this area.  If I had been home and not on vacation, I would have been one of those evacuees. 

My son was one of the evacuees, told to leave his trailer park after a mudslide hit the area. Turns out about half the park was lost, trailers tossed everywhere.  His was not one of them.  The water stopped just short of his floor, so his contents remained dry.

He had a lot of problems fleeing on the damaged roads, but made it to our house in time for the river flooding to begin.  We have flood walls in our neighborhood, but they were fully breached for the first time since they were built in the 1930's (5 years ago there was some spillage but the rains stopped just in time).  Areas in easy walking distance of my house were totally under water, including a Home Depot and a major area employer.  Our house remained an island along with part of our neighborhood.  Other parts of the neighborhood, on the other side of Main Street, are still under water,I understand.

The evacuees returned between yesterday and today at least on this side of Main St.  Our local supermarket reopened yesterday.  Many, many basements were flooded.  No houses were swept away in our immediate neighborhood but there is a lot of damage.  There was a breach of diesel tanks several doors down from us at a municipal water pumping station so diesel also spilled into the water.  Frankly, it stinks of diesel everywhere.

Ironically we are no longer under a boil water order but the order remains in force several blocks from us.

So why am I grateful?
1.  The obvious - our house is here, and is livable.  Our immediate neighbors are here and their houses are livable.
2.  No lives were lost that I am aware of, although one neighbor had to be rescued from deep water because he tried to evacuate using a street that turned out to be the wrong street to use.  Ironically his house was probably the least damaged of those on our block.  His car is still under water on the infamous "other side of Main Street".  He got his share of ribbing today.
3.  Neighbors have pulled together, not that this is ever an unfriendly community.  We got offers of help from children of one next door neighbor (the one I wrote about in July when his wife died).  One neighbor cooked breakfast for my son while he was here.  I am told there were impromptu block parties last night along with a mystery fireworks show.  And gosh, we missed it!
4.  The firemen.  Yes.  Firemen from Throop, PA were here earlier yesterday helping to pump out basements.  (I don't know the exact distance from here but they are close to Scranton, which is an hour away.  And PA has its own problems right now!)  Also in our neighborhood were firemen from Moravia, NY, which is in Cayuga County, to the south and west of Syracuse.  One of their trucks was decorated with a 9/11/01 commemoration.
5.  My T-Shirt.  As soon as I got home I knew I would be getting dirty so I dug for an old T-Shirt.  And what leaped into my hands but a NYFD T-Shirt I purchased at Macy's right after 9/11, when I was visiting my downstate mother in law.  Proceeds from the T-Shirt benefited the first responders of that day.  And now they are up here, 10 years later, helping us.  For what it is worth, all or almost all of the 9/11 commemoration ceremonies in this area were canceled due to the flood.

I hope soon I can return to the "regularly scheduled blog programming" but for now, what is happening in my neighborhood deserves my time and blogging attention.  What you will not get is pictures of houses, as I will not document that kind of misery. But businesses are fair game and - well, I have to be able to get close enough first.

Tomorrow is another day....

Local Saturday - A Taste of Homelessness after a Disaster September 11, 2011

Tomorrow is September 11, 2016, the 15th anniversary of what we in the United States call "9/11". 

But for my spouse and I, another September 11 - September 11, 2011 - was significant.  On September 10, 2011 we returned from a vacation in Maine, over seven hours away from home.  Earlier in the week, our neighborhood, along with many parts of our state, had flooded due to record rains from a tropical storm.  On September 10 we drove back, with bottled water and cleaning supplies.only to be turned away by police.

We drove to a mall on a hill, overlooking our neighborhood, not knowing what would happen next.  So close to home, but homeless for that night.  We didn't know where to go.  I finally called a work friend, knowing she wouldn't be able to put us up, but we didn't know what areas had flooded, and where to look for a place for the night. She gave us some information.  We looked and looked locally, stopping at many overwhelmed motels flooded (no pun intended) with people.  It was not a pretty sight.

Finally, thanks to a wonderful desk clerk at a Comfort Inn, we found a place to sleep, but first, had to drive another 35 miles after having driven so many miles from the state of Maine that day.

Just a little taste of what so many people go through for days, months, or years.

Here are the first of two posts from September 11, 2011.  The second one will be tomorrow.

September 11, 2011 - Almost in the Flood Zone

We did not make it back to our neighborhood.  Midway through our drive from Maine to the Binghamton area yesterday, our son called and told us about an 8pm curfew.  So time suddenly became of the essence.

According to 511NY, I-88 was open all the way.  It wasn't.  The detour cost us time.  We got to our neighborhood at 7:40 pm, Main Street was closed and blocked, the emergency worker told us they had closed at 7:30.  He would have "turned his back" if we parked in a certain place and walked in "just to take a look" but it was dark and it would have been too dangerous.

We quickly found all the area motels were full.  We ended up in Cortland, NY, about 35 miles from where we live, totally exhausted. We will be leaving later this morning to go back to the Triple Cities.

I am watching the 9/11 ceremonies live as I blog this.  I just finished chatting with the one neighbor who didn't evacuate and he advised there is traffic in the neighborhood once again.  What a juxposition.  9/11 ceremonies and wondering what we will find in our devastated neighborhood.  I saw a picture on the TV as I ate breakfast.

I want to note there are a lot of people in our area worse off than we are.  Please do not feel sorry for us.  Our house is still there.

During our brief visit to near our neighbhorhood there was an indescribable haze, a haze of dust being raised by people plowing the road (yes, they were plowing Main Street) The flood smell I can't even describe was there.

Remember the Michael Jackson song describing the "funk of 40 thousand years"?

 It would not have been a pleasant night.

My heart goes out to all the emergency workers and rescuers on this special 9/11.  You are at work once again. You are keeping my home and neighborhood safe.   And my son's.  I haven't even talked about my son's situation yet.  Stay tuned.

Wish us luck as we try to go back today.

The Demolition Continues

Some people love to see demolition.  But to me, the demolition of a building in our neighborhood bring me sadness.  And, today extra sadness.  The last time I wrote about the demolition of this building, a woman who came from this area commented on my post.  Last night, I received word that she had passed away on Wednesday evening.  I will blog more about her this weekend.

This vacant building and I have become friends, in a way, over the years, ever since it was flooded in September of 2011 due to Tropical Storm Lee.  I pass it every day.

Since February, this building, one of the largest wood framed structures in the United States, has been undergoing demolition.

As of two days ago, this is what the remains of the building looks like.  Most of it is gone.

Soon enough, it will all be gone, along with a little dream I once had.

I'd like to share  a portion of an email I wrote to a friend in February of 2012 (yes, they were planning this demolition that long ago).  At one time, I felt this site may have been a good one for a regional farmers market.  But the market was built elsewhere, and opened earlier this summer.

Still, the thought of a farmers market in my neighborhood makes me wistful.  I think it could have been built in a way that would have been compatible with being in a flood zone.  It would have had good highway access and been right on a major bus line.  And, there would have been plenty of parking (unlike the site that was ultimately chosen).

The neighbor I blog about below?  Her house was foreclosed on.  She had to move.

Yes, that flood had so many repercussions.  We in my neighborhood still feel them today.

The email:

It breaks my heart that this solid 70 year old building has to be torn down.  My neighbor (actually she lives two blocks from me) feels much the same way. She has lived in my neighborhood all my life and told me the building was even hit by a tornado once.  Must have been before I moved there in (mid 1980's)

I was thinking - they have plans to build a regional farmers market at Otsiningo Park, a park which has been flooded to the point that it must be closed, at least 10-15 times (if not more) since the 1980's?  Where they will build it (near the former rest stop on I-81) has not flooded but what is the use if no one can get to it?  [note, another site was eventually chosen]

On the other hand, this beautiful brick building has loading docks, bays for trucks, and is right on a major bus line and is centrally located close to an exit off U.S. 17.  And yes, it would be blocked off in case of a flood warning but you know what, I think the portable flood wall across Main Street has gone up four times (including this last time) since 1987 and held up to the last time.  A slightly better record than Otsiningo Park.  

They can demolish the lower part of the building, the part that really got flooded bad in September (the back of the building) because they would need more parking than the site has now.

I'm close to blogging about it, not that it would change anything.  And who knows if it would even be possible, given that the Air Force owns the building.  And maybe it would just be cheaper to tear it down.  But then we'll have a big vacant hole there for the next trillion years.

It really is too bad.

 

Throwback Thursday - It's Raining It's Pouring and My Heart is Not Soaring

I wrote the post below in September of 2011.  It's so hard to believe that the flood that created the events of that post are almost five years behind us now.

Yesterday morning, I woke up to the sounds of a thunderstorm and a heavy downpour.  I welcome the rain, so needed in our drought.

But my heart still does not soar when it rains.

I have a feeling it never will.

Demolition activity in my neighborhood continues.  More photos of the demolition of a historic factory building will come tomorrow.

It's Raining It's Pouring And My Heart is Not Soaring

A few minutes ago I got out of my evening bath, dried off, and prepared to sit in front of my computer to blog.

Then I heard this sound.

There are a lot of sounds around here nowadays.  There are the backup beeps of heavy equipment, going day and night (24/7) at the BAE Industries plant, thanks to the flood recovery contractors. There's the sound of garbage trucks coming around to pick up flood debris (using back end loaders and dump trucks.) There are the contractors, coming around to give estimates for damage repair or new furnaces.  For a while there were the scavengers, hoping to wrestle scrap metal or scrap something to sell out of a pile of someone's 30 years worth of soggy memories.  Thankfully the last has mainly stopped, due to the garbage pickups.

But there is one sound in the neighborhood that we all dread.

It's the sound of rain.

There was just a burst of rain.  Heavy, pouring rain.  It stopped a few minutes after it started.  But more rain is in the forecast for tomorrow, Saturday and Sunday.  They say maybe 1 1/2 inches of rain by Monday.  But they could be wrong. And I'm thinking, and I know my neighbors are thinking:  will it be like two weeks ago?  Will the basement we just paid Servpro good money to steam clean and dehumidify in an effort to keep our first floor living room floor from warping further overwhelm our new dehumidifier?

I used to love the sound of rain.  Even after the flood of 2006 that affected parts of this area I still (after a while) fell back in love with its sound.

I don't know if I'll ever like that sound again.

If it starts to rain again, my heart will not be soaring.  It will be in the pit of my stomach.

Summer Ramblings - Moon and Wildflowers

Today is the anniversary of the 1969 landing of man on the Moon.  I will blog more about that tomorrow.  We also had a full moon last night.

Instead of looking up in the sky, I am directing my gaze today to a building in my neighborhood known officially as Air Force Plant 59. When first built in 1942, near Johnson City, New York, it was one of the largest (if not the largest) wood framed structures in the United States.

 Rendered unusable by flooding caused by Tropical Storm Lee on September 8, 2011, it is in the process of being demolished.  Its last tenant was BAE Systems, and it is called the "BAE" building, or even the "GE" building (a tenant of many years) by locals.

In early August of 2013, I took this picture of the moon over the former BAE building.  (It's the white dot between the two trees).

Now, much of the building is gone, but the wildflowers on the property are doing quite well because no one is mowing what used to be the lawn anymore.  Probably little need, with the drought we are in.

Chicory, its blue so comforting, grows here and there.

Queen Anne's Lace is flourishing everywhere.

In the shade, earlier this month, catmint bloomed.

There is a tall thistle plant near this catmint, but in the sun.

As man abandons the property, nature has its way.

Torn on the 12th of July

There's something in all of us, I think, that enjoys watching a building being demolished.

A landmark building is being demolished not far from where I live.    People visiting me always remark about the demolition in progress.  It's going to be in progress, perhaps, for perhaps three months more (including cleanup of all the debris and the land replanted in grass.)

It seems I've blogged so many times about Air Force Plant 59, built during World War II, whose last tenant, BAE Systems, left in advance of raising flood waters on September 8, 2011.  The building had stood, vacant, ever since.

The  BAE building (some locals still call it the "GE Building", a tenant for many years), on September 10 2011, as the flood waters were already receding, is shown in this video.

As my neighborhood walked the trail of recovery, this building stood patiently, as a disaster recovery tried to salvage it.  After almost two months of effort, it was decided (in November of 2011) that it was not salvageable.

It took so long for this distinguished building, once the largest wood framed building in the United States (some 600,000 square feet), to meet its fate.

Finally, demolition began 1625 days after the flood. 

On May 7, Bradford Pears bloomed in front of the building for perhaps the last time (as of today, they are still there). 

May 12.

On June 6, everything looked so green from this angle. But, in back, the building was being torn up from the direction not facing the public.

The skies were so beautiful on June 21, as summer began (the smokestack to the left is not part of the building).

Goodbye to what was once executive parking, I believe

Then, on June 23, we saw part of the building collapsing into itself in controlled demolition.  I haven't witnessed this demolition personally, since I work during the hours when this demolition takes place.  But, perhaps it surprises me that so many people love to watch a building being demolished.  Almost everyone you see walking along Main Street, where this building is, stops to stare.

There are some videos on You Tube.  One (not this one) even has such dramatic music it's - well, it's an experience.

Taken on July 4 - no demolition due to the holiday

As of this morning, piles of rubble replace more and more of the building.

Fields of Debris

Any historic building meeting its end saddens me.  So much was built in this factory.  Airplane engines during World War II, hybrid buses and other projects more recently.

Over 1,300 people worked here (they've moved a few miles down the road, but BAE only committed to five years - and, later this year, that time will expire.)

And,  no one knows for sure what will replace the old Air Force Plant 59.  The future of this plot of land may well be the future of any neighborhood that floods.  There is technology out there - green roofs, parking lot materials that allow water to penetrate and not collect.  This land can be used.  We can co exist with flooding.

One plan is for a solar power plant.  Another plan is for multi use, and that is what I am hoping for.  Imagine if they even included plans for senior living.  Buildings can be built to co exist with flooding. People are already trying to figure out how to co exist with hurricanes, and that is not a problem where I live.

We MUST learn to live with floods.  With climate change, we have no choice.  But it's almost like we've lost our will to try anything new.

As with everything else in New York State, it seems, nothing moves fast.  The town still hasn't made a decision.

Five years of no decision.

In the meantime, the demolition continues.  It should be all completed by-fall.

Have you ever watched a building be destroyed?

This is Day Three of Write Tribe's Festival of Word #5.  Why don't you visit some of the bloggers participating in this from all over the world?

Summer Ramblings - Multi Colors

Most flowers have multiple colors in them.  Nature knows just how to design a flower.

A new one for me -  Alcea Rosea "Halo Blush" - a single hollyhock.  (Grateful they left the label in the ground).

Yarrow. It comes in several colors - this one is pink and white.

Our pansies are rapidly disappearing in the heat, but this is what one of my baskets looked like, back in June.

And a begonia plant in the last of the sunshine of the setting sun.

Look quickly, for nothing lasts forever.

Spring Things - A Month of Mays

Today, on the first day of June, I look back on a month of May flowers. 

May is a month where we go from no leaves on the trees to lush growth.  We go from daffodils, through tulips, lilacs, and through so many other flowers.  There is no other month like it during the year.

At the beginning of the month, it was the time of daffodils and tulips.

The month started with daffodils blooming.

Then, a tree whose identity I am not sure about - it is a cherry. perhaps a pin cherry or a black cherry.  But, on May 3 when I took this picture, its blossoms smelled as sweet as honey.

In my neighborhood, the crabapple trees were out by May 10.

White crabapples blooming on May 11.

By May 12, an amazing thing had happened.  The magnolias had come out in early April, and were cut down by a late hard freeze.  The trees sat and sulked.

May 12

And then, suddenly, they started to bloom again, like this one by the Broome County courthouse in downtown Binghamton.  And, for days after, they threw out blooms, sporatically.  You can not keep Nature down.

Creeping phlox at a Newark Valley, NY bed and breakfast May 13, taken by my guest photographer. 

Tulips in my front yard, mid month.

I've published so many pictures of dogwoods, I don't dare post another.  So here, instead, is a columbine from May 16, on the West side of Binghamton.  This purple is my favorite color of flower.

And now, at month's end?  The spireas are fading out.  The lilacs are done.  Now it is the time of azaleas and rhodedendrons.

Azalea, Westover, near Johnson City, New York 5-29

May, alas, is over.  The month of dreams fade away, and the haze of summer begins.

How was May for you?

Spring Things - A Day Told in Flowers

I woke up in the golden sun yesterday,
In the merry, merry month of May.

The tulips were glowing.

Near historic First Congregational Church, Main and Front Sts

At lunch, I went, with my guest photographer, for a walk on the edges of downtown Binghamton, New York. (You'll see some of those pictures later this month.)

We walked along the Chenango River.

Front Street, Binghamton, New York

We passed lilacs on a block where historic houses are being slowly restored.

A dogwood beckoned.

After work, a walk on the West Side.

Westover, near Johnson City, New York

Towards sundown, one last picture of crab apples.

How was your day yesterday?

This (is) The Time #AtoZChallenge

In October of 2011, over a month after a historic flood hit much of the part of New York State where I live, I wrote this email to a friend.

As my regular readers know, my neighborhood of Westover, near Johnson City, New York, was one of many neighborhoods impacted by a massive flood caused by a record year of rain, capped by two tropical storms in a couple of weeks time - Irene, and then Lee.  Meanwhile, this past week, Houston has also been hit by historic flooding.  I want to tell the people there "it will be a hard road, but you will recover."

This email is intensely personal to me, but I wanted to share it with you for "T" day in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. My theme, after all, is "Days of Our Lives".

"There was a thick fog this morning, and I took a walk through some of my Westover neighborhood.  The lights of the BAE restoration diffused into the fog and dimly lit our neighborhood. For the first 2 1/2 blocks, everything was normal.  These houses have electricity.  Halloween decorations glowed in the dark, orange and green.  And then I hit The Other Side.  Turning onto Main Street, I peered down the streets of the other half of my neighborhood.  Dark, with few cars parked on the streets, no decorations glowed there.  No one was home.  No one has been home since September 8, 2011.  Only the thick fog keeps me company.

I didn't look to my left, towards the Johnson City Y.  It is still closed.  It was flooded, and reopened, but then, last Saturday, a fire hit.  Right now the estimated reopening date is November 4.

On the BAE side of Main Street, restoration employees arrive to begin their daily shift.  The crowds of day workers who did the initial muck-out and waited in lines on Main Street to check in at a tent are gone, and the relative silence is eerie.  There is still a lot of equipment there, tents, and people smoking cigarettes before their shift begins.  Here, the lights glow almost like day through the fog.

The future itself of BAE is in doubt, but they continue to clean up the property in the meantime.  

I walked on Main Street along the BAE property.  On the other side of Main Street, the flooded side, Westover Plaza, stands empty.  Lights glow in only one store, an Aldi, which has been totally remodeled.  They are moving groceries into the building and I expect their reopening will be announced soon.

I stood at the fence in front of the front entrance of BAE, and a song from the 80's popped into my head.  I don't know why, because this is not how I usually behave, but I suddenly sang out the song in my mind.  It was a  Simple Minds song called "All The Things She Said":
(I probably shouldn't be quoting this without permission but, in the Year of the Flood, I take this liberty)  These may not be the exact words but this is what I sang in the fog:
"She said, this is the time
She said, this is the place
She said, this is the place* my heart wants to be"

And then I started my day."

*the actual lyrics say "space", but that morning, "place" seemed so right.

Here is the music video, if you are interested.  

My neighborhood is somewhat restored, with the vacant, flood ruined houses (mostly) demolished.  And it's still the place my heart wants to be.

Now, the "BAE property" itself is being demolished, one of the last steps my neighborhood needs to be whole once again.

Bradford Pears in front of BAE in process of being demolished, April 21

 I see a new day rising.