Monthly Archives: July 2023

Chaos…Bearing Witness, Finding Beauty

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“We are often taught to look for the beauty in all things, so in finding it, the layman asks the philosopher while the philosopher asks the photographer.” 

― Criss Jami, Killosophy

In the aftermath of the recent flood, Vermonters of every ilk came together to help those most affected survive and get back on their feet. There were tasks for every age and ability. I had several different duties, including the one I chose for myself…that of bearing witness…finding beauty in the chaos.

“Grief needs an outlet. Creativity offers one.

Hope Edelman

A welcome summer rain quenched the thirsty fields until the farmers said enough. Those living beside the river turned their rain-spattered faces toward the sky, imploring the gods of water to stop emptying their buckets upon the earth. The rain came and came and came. The rivers began to swell, and still, Mother Nature ignored the pleas. Within hours, dirty, brown water was once again filling basements, streets, houses, and businesses in Montpelier and surrounding towns, just as it had in 1927, 1992, and 2011.

The river is a two-face friend…unpredictable and complicated,… a friend who can’t decide whether to build up or tear down. The first settlements in Vermont were usually in the valleys and along the rivers. Rivers were a source of life-giving water; they provided routes for transportation and could be tamed and harnessed for power. Those same rivers…that same power…could also destroy all that stood in its path. A living organism that could leap its confines, change its course, and claim new territory on one day and then, with regret and contrition, slink back silently to the peaceful embrace of its banks the next.

The water…once the joy of children, kayakers, and fishermen…became a swirl of silt, sewage, and unnamed chemicals creating the perfect breeding ground for mold. To prevent the spread of this fungus, homeowners and businesses began to remove everything that had been touched and contaminated by the flood waters. There was a rush to simply…Get. It. Out. Mold grows well on paper products, cardboard, ceiling tiles, and wood products. It can also grow in dust, paint, wallpaper, insulation, drywall, carpet, fabric, and upholstery. For the protection of all, it had to be extracted as soon as possible. The piles and piles of debris began to grow as bucket brigades of strangers passed foul wreckage from hand to hand, emptying stores, churches, homes, government buildings, and even the library.

As I walked down familiar streets within a few blocks of my home, I was overcome by the loss I witnessed. Seeing the remnants of lives unceremoniously discarded on sidewalks and in roadways produced a reaction within me like none I had experienced before…a combination of sickening despair and profound sadness and compassion. The mass of refuse, garbage, and trash continued to grow into stacks of nearly incomprehensible size. Like my stunned friends and neighbors, I was at once repulsed by the stacks and also drawn to look upon them. I resisted the impulse to take photos of the destruction. It seemed too invasive…too intimate…as though I was observing grief personified.

“Anyone who has lost something they thought was theirs forever finally comes to realize that nothing really belongs to them.” 

Paulo Coelho

Shortly after the flood, I realized that my favorite flannel shirt, my down vest, and a pin I always wear on the vest were missing. The last time I saw this trio was several weeks ago. I searched my tiny condo. There are few places I could have absentmindedly stashed them after all. I’ve moved everything in the closet, looked under furniture, and even checked recently emptied suitcases. I’ve tried to backtrack by looking at pictures from the previous few weeks. “Yes, I was wearing them in this photo. That means I had them in this place.” Phone calls to the lost and found were unsuccessful. I know where they’re not, but I don’t know where they are. At some point, I know that I have to admit that what I lost…someone else has found. My disappointment has become another’s delight. I know all these things on a conscience level… I’ve even replaced the vest…but…I keep looking for what I know was lost. Eventually, I’ll accept the loss, but at present, I am still in the denial stage of grief.

What is it about us human beings that we can’t let go of lost things?

Leslie Marmon Silko

My missing flannel shirt…LL Bean…the most divine color…my vest, and the irreplaceable pin,…important to me but pretty minor in the overall scheme of things…prompted me to reconsider those huge stacks of debris, rubble, and discarded fragments of lives forever changed by the deluge and my reluctance to photograph it. While the pain and loss represented by the enormous, ever-growing mounds was almost palpable, I began to realize that rather than turn away from the suffering, I had to look. I needed to bear witness. It was difficult, but I was compelled to look closely…with compassion and empathy…and record the heartbreak of what had been surrendered to those massive piles.

“So, one morning, after delivering muffins for the workers and volunteers…a job I could do…I walked the streets in the center of our small city with my camera in hand. As I began to crop with my feet and focus on small areas of the larger chaos, I realized that, as always, beauty surrounds us. I was capturing unplanned still lives through the lens of my camera. The photos require the observer to really look at the images to unlock and appreciate the beauty that was hidden in the destruction. Blogger, Jordan Lingle has said that “Finding beauty in chaos starts with realizing that there is beauty in the places of our lives that are often confusing, hard, difficult, and challenging. It doesn’t come easy or natural. You will want to hide the chaos. But if we want to find beauty in chaos, we have to start looking.”

“Art is not always about pretty things. It’s about who we are, what happened to us, and how our lives are affected.”

elizabeth Broun

The mountains of debris are slowly being collected and carted away. The sidewalks on Main Street are nearly as empty as the stores that line them.

The pain of loss may remain, but given time, the beauty found in chaos will once again be replaced by the beauty found in order, predictability, and familiarity. I’ll keep my camera handy.

“Wabi Sabi is a philosophy of life that focuses on flaws but not to judge but to find and celebrate the positivity within them. This philosophy helps people see things in a simple way, accept its impermanent nature, from which life becomes easier and lighter.” (vmnhome.com)

On the morning I set out with my camera, I met a friend on State Street. “If you have a pulse, you’ve been affected by this flood,” she said. Each of us has our own personal story. This is just one of them. On that morning, I could see the beauty in the situation. However, I know that if I’d seen my favorite plaid shirt peaking out of one of those mountainous stacks, finding the beauty might have been impossible, and this might be a different story indeed.

The Winooski River…One Week in July 2023

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“You can’t argue with a river – it is going to flow. You can dam it up, put it to useful purposes, you can deflect it, but you can’t argue with it.“ 

–  Dean Acheson

“I couldn’t stand living where you do,” he said.”You are so close to the river. You know, you can never turn off the sound of the water plunging over the falls. It never stops.”

I purchased my condo a year ago, and contrary to my friend’s opinion, I rather like the sound of the water as it rushes on. He was right, though; like a close friend, it’s always there, whispering, giggling, and sharing secrets in the background of every activity in my tiny home. I usually find its constant presence comforting, but on those rare occasions when the white noise seems overwhelming and perhaps a tad annoying, I simply close the window or turn up the radio. Like any bosom buddy, the river never seems to mind.

It may be silly… at my age, I’m entitled to a wee bit of frivolity…but sometimes, as I watch the river from my living room, I imagine that I’m on a cruise ship that is taking me on a grand adventure, and the river never disappoints. I watch the changing seasons from my deck and delight as families of geese and ducks swim past, occasionally stopping to fish and forage among the cattails that line the nearby banks. Herons, turtles, and kingfishers also make an appearance now and then; even tubers and kayakers find their way down the river.

Oh River...My River
A dessert as sweet, silky and smooth as butterscotch pudding.

A necklace studded with the feathered jewels of geese, goslings, and mallards linked with clasps of giant turtles.

Bring me your unbridled delight and self-assured contentment.

I will pour them into cut-glass goblets and serve with fresh fruit and honey.
A pair of Canada Geese keeping an eye on the teens.

July 2023 arrived accompanied by rain. I watched the raindrops—first one and then another—create patterns of ever-widening circles disturbing the smooth surface. Soon, the solitary droplets were joined by a chorus of staccato drumbeats, leaving pockmarks in their wake. There is something soothing about a gentle rain on a summer day.

Oh, River…My River

A stippled dance floor patterned by hoofers who tap in circular heel-toe-rhythm.

A gauzy summer dress of pastel Dotted Swiss.

Bring me your unquestioning acceptance and continual adaptability to unexpected alterations, unscheduled revisions and unplanned transitions.

I will place them gently in a Tiffany box displayed with other treasures.
Raindrops tap-dancing on the river.

The rain, however, continued off and on for days. Random periods of blue skies and sunshine belied the approaching danger.

“Be careful coming home,” my daughter warned as my granddaughter and I returned from a weekend trip to Canada. “There are flash flood warnings for this area. Stick to the main roads and don’t take chances.”

We drove cautiously through Upstate New York past swollen rivers, but as we drew near Montpelier, we realized this wasn’t going to be an a-few-roads-washed-out event. Entering town from Exit 8 on the Interstate, we were instantly aware that roads were already impassible. Stores were closed, or closing, and Main Street was being locked down. It was too late to build an ark. The flood was upon us.

Oh, River…My River

A locomotive churning, rushing, and unstoppable carrying flotsam, jetsam, hopes and dreams.

A water moccasin moving indiscriminately through the valley leaving poison and destruction in its wake.

Bring me your indefatigable persistence, your resolute power and singleminded confidence.

I will store them in a jar of Delft blue and proffer them sparingly with a wee silver spoon.

Like everyone else downriver from the dam, I watched and waited. Wrightsville Dam, just a few miles north, was within a foot of reaching capacity. Would it contain the water or overtop the barrier created after the Flood of 1927? This was an unprecedented event, and no one knew exactly what would happen in Montpelier if water was released. We watched and waited until the rain slowly subsided and the water level began to drop. Hopefully, this phase was ending.

Oh, River...My River

An aging rock star at the end of the final set, exhausted and played out.

A barn cat dropping dead mice on my doorstep…a gift, a demand for attention, or just too tired to carry it farther.

Bring me your astonishing resilience and incredible adaptability

I will keep them in a shaker next to the salt and pepper 
sprinkling liberally.
At the next bridge down, “See what I brought you,” the river seemed to say.

When the immediate danger had passed, neighbors, friends, and strangers ventured out to assess the situation and to see firsthand what the river had left in her wake. We stood together on the pedestrian bridge, looking on in astonishment and awe at the power of small drops of water that had decided to work together.

Oh River…My River

A contrite and apologetic school boy emerging from detention, yearning to make amends and return to class.

A Sunday morning realization that the detritus of Saturday night necessitates hours of clearing away, mopping up, hauling out. Picks up a broom and begins.

Bring me your inexhaustible energy, silent resolve, and desire for restitution and restoration.

I will burn them as a scented candle of perfume and light.

“I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.” 

John O’Donohue

The Winooski River was born nearly ten thousand years ago. It has literally been here for millennia, yet new waters flow within its banks every day. As the Greek philosopher Heraclitus observed in 500 BCE, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river, and he’s not the same man.” The river is a paradox, constant and dependable, yet always evolving and reinventing itself…never quite certain of its identity. The same waters that wreak havoc and destruction also bring life and joy.

Oh, River…My River

A complicated, prepubescent friend in search of themselves.

A super hero assuming the shape of the vessel or breaking free from the banks and confines of her existence and creating her own path.

Bring me your enthusiasm and openness to change…to try-on another’s cloak and experience life from new and unexpected perspectives,

I will wear them on a gold chain around my neck.

Much to my delight this afternoon, a lone Merganser was dipping and diving in the river just beyond my deck.

In this piece, I chose to write about the Winooski River but omitted any discussion of the destruction caused by the flood. My poor little state has been devastated. Montpelier is my home, and it is what I know best, but many, many towns were punished by this Flood of ’23.

I’ve been asked if I was affected by the flood. I’m beside the river but high enough above it to have avoided the flood waters. I don’t have a basement, so I’ve nothing to pump out, but here’s how I was affected: Post Office…closed. My bank…closed. My church and nearly all the other churches in town…closed. The bookstore…closed. Hardware store…closed. Both movie theaters and live theater…all closed. Restaurants…closed. Jewelry store…closed. My gas station…closed. Bars, liquor store, and cannabis shop all closed. Candy store…closed. Every store selling clothing…closed. The library…closed. Roads closed, and even City Hall and the police department had to relocate.


Whether or not there was water in your house, if you live in Montpelier, this flood affected and continues to affect you. Walking past growing mountains of debris, the remnants of the homes and lives of friends, neighbors, and strangers, is gut-wrenchingly painful. Conversely, the outpouring of love, kindness, and goodwill is palpable. Strangers working side-by-side to do whatever they can to alleviate the pain and suffering of others is heartwarming, humbling, and encouraging. We are Vermont strong.

This is Love made Visible
Photo: Ryan Holmes via Orbit of Love

You probably can’t muck out a basement, haul out soggy books, or wipe down walls, but you can help if you wish. One place to donate is through Montpelier Alive.