By Bob McNitt
Two weeks have passed since much of our area was transformed into "Waterworld." While some flood-stricken victims may already have the water damage cleaned up and their lives have returned to normal, many others are still dealing with the flood's aftereffects. I suspect many have dealt and are now dealing with the "beast in the basement."
This beast has neither fangs nor claws, but it is nonetheless as formidable a threat as was the flood. The beast is seldom noticed by its resident hosts. Rather it lies in wait in the basement, growing ever larger with each passing month and year, awaiting the opportune time to spring its attack. The catalyst required is a flooded basement, and the beast is brought to life by the accumulated materials that so many basements contain. Basements, much like attics and large garages, are a great place to store things. It allows us to amass many more material goods than our normal daily living space can accommodate, plus it keeps them "out of the way" until they're needed. Of course, how often are many of these stored items actually needed – once a week, once a month, once a year, maybe never? But keeping and storing these things seemed like such a good idea at the time.
Our basement has seen its share of water seepage during monsoonal weather, but nothing the trusty sump pump couldn't handle, nor did it happen often. So when seepage began to occur early that fateful Wednesday morning, this old veteran outdoorsman wasn't all that concerned, despite the abnormal amount of rain that had fallen. But to be safe, I disconnected all electrical appliances in the basement and also shut off all the natural gas values. Shortly afterwards, we left to help a family member who was getting seepage in her basement.
Upon our return home several hours later, before we even pulled into the driveway, we couldn't help but see the main road had turned into a shallow river and our east lawn was now a small lake. "Uh-oh," I thought, and cautiously unlocked the back door. Stepping in and onto the landing of our split-level, the sight was exactly as I'd feared – the basement water level was almost up to the fourth step, and all sorts of things were floating freely about the basement (aka our "instant indoor swimming pool"). I went down the steps just far enough to assure the main electrical box and outlets were well above water level.
I then went to the garage, donned waders and began my descent into the murky waters. It was then that I fully realized that the "beast" had come alive and was now blanketing our once innocent and semi-structured basement storage areas, turning them into his own personal playground of destruction.
I once saw film of an area of the Pacific Ocean where the currents have caused decades' worth of discarded but floatable debris to collect in one huge flotilla. As I carefully waded amongst all the things floating about in our basement (not to mention what I felt bumping against my boots at floor level), the images of that flotilla came to mind. Several mallard duck decoys floated by, followed by the clothes washer. Luckily, the washer couldn't drift too far because of the outlet hose connected to it. A thermos bottle here, a floating flashlight there, a partially filled gallon jug of vinegar – all sorts of stored treasures could be seen as they floated freely about the basement, thanks to the aquatic beast that had freed them from their captive places.
The beast is particularly fond of lurking in the basements of human critters commonly called "packrats." You know who you are. I, too, am of that genus, having amassed decades' worth of seemingly valuable inventory – cardboard boxes of assorted "collectables" that I just could not bear to part with. Whether grand old first edition hardcover books, magazines that contained items of useful tips and facts, fish poles that had had their tips snapped off, reels that just required a bit of "minor repair," fishing lures that had never caught a fish, the basement seemed the perfect area to store these "irreplaceable items."
The beast – a very patient sort – waited and watched as the inventory grew, and grew, and grew. Then, once there was precious little room there for any more treasures, the Flood of '06 released him to wrought havoc on my sub-ground-level kingdom. He snickered at my sump pump's feeble attempts to exorcise him before he could devour my treasures. He even managed to free a half-filled gallon can of white latex paint whose lid was slightly ajar, in the process, coating everything he touched with a ghostly film. As the water subsided, the beast slowly retreated into his invisible lair, leaving behind the vast and assorted spoils of his unsavory work scattered randomly, like bodies on a war-ravaged battlefield. As we surveyed the damage, the beast's lingering scent of victory filled the air with its pungent swampy aroma. Waterlogged books that originally weighed less than a tube of golf balls now would tilt the scales to that of a bowling ball. Carpets and rugs hefted more like what green bison hides must've felt like during the Plains' massive buffalo slaughter saga of the 19th century. The beast of the basement had done his job oh so well.
Armed with shovels, brooms, mops, garbage bags and dumpsters, we victims of the beast begin clearing the ugly evidence of our utter defeat. As we do so, we make a solemn promise to never again offer the beast the tools to do his dastardly deeds, come hell or high water. But then, there's always that sure-to-come allure of having all that empty, uncluttered room in the basement.