Luke Q. Stafford

The morning the Rock River rose

‘I expected to find crying children and men with their heads in their hands, to come upon distraught homeowners. But I found nothing like that.’

It began as a routine Sunday morning.

Hurricane Irene had been weakened to Tropical Storm Irene the night before, so we didn't think anything of the steady rain pattering on our roof as my wife fixed coffee and I fed our infant daughter mashed pears. I was excited to have a gray, rainy day as an excuse to lie around and catch up on pre-season football news.

I drained my second cup of coffee while issuing smart-ass remarks to TV news reporters as they admitted overestimating Irene's impact on New York City.

As the news was starting, I heard thunder. Unlike thunder, though, the ground was shaking with each rumble.

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