President Donald Trump and First Lady Melania Trump joined Governor Greg Abbott and his wife Cecilia in Kerrville, Texas Friday to see firsthand the devastation from the July 4th flooding on the Guadalupe River.

Dodie and I have been to Kerrville twice, the day after and four days later, since the devastating flood.

We were shocked by the damages. However, we witnessed the best in fellow Texans. They rolled up their sleeves and did the hard work. This hard work continues to be done.

Here is an excerpt from an email written by Donald S. Frazier, the Director of The Texas Center at Schreiner University in Kerrville, Texas.

In the early morning hours of July 4, the remnants of two tropical storms—one Pacific, one Gulf—converged over the Hill Country of Texas and dumped a deluge of rain on the headwaters of the Guadalupe, Llano, and San Saba rivers. The forecast the day before had been 40% chance of scattered thunderstorms. No one saw this coming on July 3.

Apparently, at 1:15 am on July 4, the National Weather Service issued a flash flood warning—long after the retirees, vacationers, and young campers had turned in for the night on this holiday weekend. Of course, this is a region known for spotty cell phone coverage which, in happier times, adds to its tranquility.

Just not this night. As cowboys and counselors, campers and caretakers slumbered on, the rain came. A jogger in Kerrville, a dozen miles downstream, might have noticed a spitting rain.

But upstream, the bottom had already dropped out of the sky. It hit the rocks and drought-baked soil of Kerr County and it ran like it was power washing concrete. An hour later, it came toward Kerrville… heavy. The Guadalupe River valley served as a funnel, and the once trickling stream became a roaring messenger of doom.

The river rose about half a foot a minute for an hour. Ancient cypress trees lost their grip on the earth and became battering rams heading down stream at velocity. Houses and cabins—many occupied—floated away, their terrified inhabitants trying to formulate an escape plan.

Recreational vehicles carried their vacationing owners downstream to uncertain—but often predictable—fates. Some clung to trees and awaited the rotor wash of rescue helicopters. Many would survive, some did not. The water spared no one—the young and the old, the innocent and the wizened.

As one meteorologist is reported to have posted, “nearly 2 trillion gallons of water fell across the Texas Hill Country. To put that into perspective, it could supply 11 million homes with water for one year, or fill 1.5 million Olympic swimming pools.”

And it fell in a matter of minutes.

Think about all this swift water. For a short minute, that fast water is a little more than ankle deep. Three minutes, it is nearly knee high—even higher on a little kid. The force of that water is making it hard to keep your footing. At five minutes, it’s nearly waist high on an adult, and your chances of keeping your feet are growing mighty slim.

If you do go down, you are racing down a roaring river clogged with trees, cars, trailers, cottages, butane tanks, siding, and assorted debris. The Guadalupe is also a very rocky stream in this part of the very rocky Hill Country.

Amidst this pandemonium, two camp owner/directors, at Mystic and Heart of the Hills, heroically surrendered their lives attempting to rescue their young campers. They knew the danger—anyone who has lived here any length of time does—but they had to try, no matter the cost.

The aftermath has been devastation. The list of dead, and missing, is long. It includes retirees who had their little piece of heaven in Texas. It included friends enjoying a holiday weekend that would be highlighted by a Robert Earl Keen concert and fireworks show at Louise Hays Park in Kerrville. It also includes young families—mom, dad, and the kids—who have vanished.

This storm was a killer, a destroyer. Not just in Kerr County, but across the middle of Texas. And it still is.

The sounds of helicopters going overhead, and the sight of emergency vehicles—especially ambulances—driving slowly just reminds us that this massive debris field (trees, cars, trailers, etc.) may be slow to give up its secrets.

The gorgeous riverscape of Kerrville is now populated with splintered and broken trees.

Well, there is nothing for it now. To quote Governor Greg Abbott, Kerrville has proven to be “quintessentially Texan” in our response to this crisis. Or, as Secretary of Homeland Security echoed, Kristi Noem said, “you are an example for the nation.”

Sometimes, you make history. Sometimes, history makes you. Both of those forces are at work here in Kerrville right now. They probably always have been.

Thank you to all who have inquired. We have caught our breath, rolled up our sleeves, and are getting about the tasks at hand.

Like Texans.

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