Our World Turned to Water

On August 29, 2016, I received an email from Margaret Boudreaux [boo-DROH], a Storyworks teacher at Episcopal School in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

“We have just suffered a great flood, a thousand-year flood,” she wrote. “Much of our school was damaged, and many of our students and teachers lost their homes.”

I had been reading about the devastating flooding that had struck Louisiana just weeks before. In the city of Baton Rouge, many areas were under 10 feet of water. Thousands of people had lost everything they owned.

But that was only one part of the story that Mrs. Boudreaux and her students wanted to share with me.

“This disaster brought out the good in people,” she wrote. “People rushed to help each other. My students and I invite you to visit us, to meet boys and girls who can tell you this story firsthand.”

And so last November, I flew down to Baton Rouge to meet the inspiring kids and teachers of Episcopal.

This is their story.

On August 29, 2016, I received an email from Margaret Boudreaux [boo-DROH], a Storyworks teacher at Episcopal School in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

“We have just suffered a great flood, a thousand-year flood,” she wrote. “Much of our school was damaged, and many of our students and teachers lost their homes.”

I had been reading about the devastating flooding that had struck Louisiana just weeks before. In the city of Baton Rouge, many areas were under 10 feet of water. Thousands of people had lost everything they owned.

But that was only one part of the story that Mrs. Boudreaux and her students wanted to share with me.

“This disaster brought out the good in people,” she wrote. “People rushed to help each other. My students and I invite you to visit us, to meet boys and girls who can tell you this story firsthand.”

And so last November, I flew down to Baton Rouge to meet the inspiring kids and teachers of Episcopal.

This is their story.

Eleven-year-old Addisyn Botos was up to her neck in freezing, filthy water.

It was August 13, 2016, and devastating floods were sweeping across Louisiana. In Addisyn’s Baton Rouge neighborhood, the waters had risen so quickly that she and her parents, two brothers, and sister had become trapped. They were caught outside their flooded house as stinking brown water rushed all around them.

Shivering and terrified, Addisyn gripped a wooden post so the powerful current wouldn’t sweep her away. With each passing minute, the water was getting higher and higher.

“I’ve never been so scared,” Addisyn remembers.

How would she and her family escape?

Eleven-year-old Addisyn Botos was up to her neck in freezing, filthy water.

It was August 13, 2016. Floods were sweeping across Louisiana. In Addisyn’s Baton Rouge neighborhood, the waters had risen quickly. Now she and her parents, two brothers, and sister were trapped. They were caught outside their flooded house. Stinking brown water rushed all around them.

Addisyn gripped a wooden post so the strong current wouldn’t sweep her away. The water got higher and higher.

“I’ve never been so scared,” Addisyn says.

How would she and her family escape?

Two days earlier, on Thursday, August 11, few people in Baton Rouge could have imagined that their city would soon be in ruins.

Outside, the morning sky was gray and rainy. But inside Episcopal School, the mood was sunny with excitement. It was orientation day—a time to meet new teachers and catch up with old friends. The hallways buzzed with students in their crisp blue and plaid uniforms, their hair combed and curled for pictures.

Addisyn was thrilled to start fifth grade. Sixth-grader Skyler Adams and his pals swapped stories about summer adventures. Seventeen-year-old Dell Portwood was psyched for his senior year on Episcopal’s football team.

“We were all so happy to start school the next day,” says Mrs. Boudreaux, who teaches fifth-grade language arts. “We weren’t worried about a little rain,” she adds.

What Boudreaux and the other teachers and students of Episcopal School did not know was that the rain was part of a dangerous and unusual storm system. Weather forecasters were growing increasingly alarmed. A large amount of moisture in the air was producing unusually heavy rain. It was as though millions of fire hoses were hanging from the sky, all turned on full blast.

Most worrisome? The storm was moving slowly. That meant it would hover over Baton Rouge, pouring down rain, for days.

That morning, the National Weather Service sent out a flash flood warning for parts of Baton Rouge. Flash floods happen when great quantities of rain fall over a short period of time. With little warning, lazy rivers, quiet streams, and peaceful creeks explode into powerful torrents of churning water. Every year, an average of 130 Americans die in flash floods.

Two days earlier, few people in Baton Rouge could have imagined that their city would soon be in ruins.

It was Thursday, August 11. The sky was gray and rainy. But inside Episcopal School, the mood was sunny with excitement. It was orientation day. Students were there to meet new teachers and catch up with old friends. They wore crisp blue and plaid uniforms. Their hair was combed and curled for pictures.

Addisyn was thrilled to start fifth grade. Sixth-grader Skyler Adams and his pals swapped stories of summer fun. Dell Portwood, 17, was eager for his senior year on the football team.

“We were all so happy to start school the next day,” says Mrs. Boudreaux, who teaches fifth-grade language arts. “We weren’t worried about a little rain,” she adds.

What the teachers and students did not know was that the rain was part of a strange and dangerous storm system. Weather forecasters were growing more and more alarmed. The rain was extremely heavy. It was as if millions of fire hoses were hanging from the sky, all turned on full blast.

Most worrisome? The storm was moving slowly. That meant it would hover over Baton Rouge, pouring down rain, for days.

That morning, the National Weather Service sent out a flash flood warning for parts of Baton Rouge. Flash floods happen when large amounts of rain fall over a short period of time. All of a sudden, lazy rivers and quiet streams become powerful torrents of rushing water. Each year, an average of 130 Americans die in flash floods.

Already, two of Baton Rouge’s main rivers—the Amite [AY-meet] and the Comite [COH-meet]—were starting to creep up over their banks. Those rivers connect to many small tributaries—creeks and streams and brooks that squiggle into almost all corners of Baton Rouge. A flooding disaster was taking shape.

The next day, Friday, most schools across Baton Rouge—including Episcopal—were closed because of flooded roadways. But those living near Episcopal felt safe.

“We had never flooded before,” says Dell, who lives near the school.

Skyler’s family also lives in an area that had always been safe from flooding. So does the Botos family.

But soon, even “safe” areas of the city would be in grave danger.

On Saturday morning, Skyler, who had slept at his friend’s house, was awakened by the sound of his phone. It was a call from his mother.

“I’m outside,” she said. “The house is flooded. Everything is gone.”

In Dell’s neighborhood near Episcopal, water rushed through the streets. The school’s athletic fields had turned into lakes, complete with lapping waves.

The Botos family woke up to see water in their road. By 7 a.m., they decided to leave in Mr. Botos’s big pickup truck. But they had barely made it down the driveway when the water suddenly began to rise very quickly.

“It just rushed in,” says Mrs. Botos.

The water caused the truck’s engine to die. Water gushed up through the bottom of the truck. “First our feet were wet,” Mrs. Botos says. “Then we had water up to our waists and then our chests.”

Being in a car or truck when even just a few inches of water are on a roadway can be extremely dangerous. Two feet of water can lift a massive pickup or SUV and turn it on its side or sweep it away like a bath toy. Water pushes against the doors, sometimes making them impossible to open and trapping passengers inside. Every year, dozens of people in vehicles lose their lives trying to escape floods.

Already, two of Baton Rouge’s main rivers—the Amite [AY-meet] and the Comite [COH-meet]—were rising over their banks. Those rivers connect to many small tributaries—creeks and streams and brooks that squiggle into almost all corners of Baton Rouge. A disaster was taking shape.

The next day, Friday, most schools in Baton Rouge were closed because of flooded roads. Episcopal was one of them. But those who lived near Episcopal felt safe.

Dell lives near the school. “We had never flooded before,” he says.

Like Dell, Skyler lives in an area that had always been safe from flooding. Addisyn does too.

But soon, even “safe” parts of the city would be in grave danger.

Skyler slept at a friend’s house. On Saturday morning, he woke up to the sound of his phone. It was a call from his mom.

“I’m outside,” she said. “The house is flooded. Everything is gone.”

In Dell’s neighborhood near Episcopal, water rushed through the streets. The school’s athletic fields turned into lakes.

The Botos family woke up to see water in their road. By 7 a.m., they decided to leave in their big pickup truck. They made it down the driveway. Then the water began to rise quickly.

“It just rushed in,” says Mrs. Botos.

The water caused the truck’s engine to die. Water gushed up through the bottom of the truck. “First our feet were wet,” Mrs. Botos says. “Then we had water up to our waists and then our chests.”

Being in a car or truck when even just a few inches of water are on a road can be dangerous. Two feet of water can lift a pickup or SUV and turn it on its side. The truck can be swept away like a bath toy. Water pushes against the doors. This can make them impossible to open. People get trapped inside. Every year, dozens of people in vehicles lose their lives trying to escape floods.

Luckily, Mrs. Botos managed to break a window. Somehow the kids in back were able to ram open one of the truck doors. Sixteen-year-old Marcus grabbed hold of 8-year-old Brennen.

Addisyn held tight to her mom as her dad freed their two dogs from their crates in the back. Slowly, the family pushed their way through the deep water and back toward the house. Mr. Botos used straps from his truck to tie the family and dogs together so nobody would be swept away by the powerful current.

They had escaped from the truck. But now they were stranded. And the water was getting higher and higher.

Across Baton Rouge and surrounding towns, emergency operators were receiving frantic calls for help.

“I’m stuck in my car!”

“We’re on the roof of our house!”

“Please help us!”

From the sky, Baton Rouge seemed more like a lake than a city. Church spires and rooftops poked out of brown, rippling water. Partially submerged cars looked like shiny sea creatures. In a nearby city, caskets from a flooded cemetery rose out of the soaked ground and floated down the streets.

Luckily, Mrs. Botos managed to break a window. The kids in back got one of the truck doors open. Sixteen-year-old Marcus grabbed hold of 8-year-old Brennen. Addisyn held tight to her mom. Her dad freed their two dogs from their crates in the back. The family pushed their way through the deep water. They moved back toward the house. Mr. Botos got straps from his truck. He tied the people and dogs together so no one would be swept away.

They had escaped from the truck. But now they were stranded. And the water was rising.

Across the Baton Rouge area, emergency operators were getting frantic calls for help.

“I’m stuck in my car!”

“We’re on the roof of our house!”

“Please help us!”

From the sky, Baton Rouge seemed more like a lake than a city. Church steeples and rooftops poked out of the water. Partially submerged cars looked like sea creatures. In a nearby city, caskets from a flooded cemetery rose out of the soaked ground and floated down the streets.

Meanwhile, the Botos family huddled together in the freezing water, which stunk of oil and gas. Adding to their misery: The water was swarming with fire ants, which stung their arms and legs. Hours passed, but there seemed to be no escape—and nobody who could help them. Rescue workers were overwhelmed. Fire trucks were stranded.

But as flooding worsened, the people of Baton Rouge began to mobilize to help each other. By mid-morning, a “navy” of volunteers had taken to the flooded streets in their own boats. Mrs. Boudreaux’s 22-year-old son, Elliott, was one of hundreds of people who helped pluck neighbors from rooftops and cars. They climbed through windows to help the elderly and disabled. They comforted crying children and calmed jittery cats and dogs.

It was one of these boats, piloted by an old friend of Mrs. Botos’s, that finally rescued the family. They were taken to a gas station. When that area flooded, a second boat took them to a parking lot. It wasn’t until late that afternoon that a huge army truck brought them to a fire station, where Addisyn’s aunt was able to pick them up.

After nearly nine agonizing hours, at last the family was safe and dry.

The Botos family huddled in the freezing water. It stank of oil and gas. And it was swarming with fire ants, which stung their arms and legs. Hours passed. There seemed to be no escape. No one came to help them. Rescue workers were overwhelmed. Fire trucks were stranded.

But soon the people of Baton Rouge began to mobilize to help each other.

By mid-morning, a “navy” of volunteers had headed out in their own boats. Mrs. Boudreaux’s 22-year-old son, Elliott, was one of the volunteers. There were hundreds of them. They plucked neighbors from rooftops and cars. They climbed through windows to help the elderly and disabled. They comforted crying children. They calmed nervous pets.

In one of these boats, a friend of Mrs. Botos’s rescued the family. They were taken to a gas station. When that area flooded, a second boat took them to a parking lot. Later that day, a huge army truck brought them to a fire station. Addisyn’s aunt picked them up from there.

It had been nearly nine hours. At last they were safe and dry.

Even before the floodwaters cleared, the Episcopal School community was coming together. Those who had been spared flooding worked to help those in need. Dell’s family was among the fortunate; their house did not flood.

“All I could think was, how can I help?” Dell says. “What can I do? What can I do?”

The answer: a lot.

Throughout southern Louisiana, thousands of people returned to their homes to find scenes of complete ruin. Many people lost everything they owned—furniture, computers, photos, clothing. Even a small amount of water in a home can cause extensive damage. When the water recedes, it leaves behind a sickening sludge of mud, oil, dead worms, and other filth. Carpets must be ripped out and replaced. Damp and moldy walls must be demolished.

Students and teachers joined together to help people clean their homes, haul away trash, and salvage things that had escaped the waters. Donations poured in.

“It was amazing what people did for us,” says Skyler, whose home took many months to repair.

Even before the floodwaters cleared, the Episcopal School community was coming together. Those who had been spared flooding helped those in need. Dell’s family was lucky. Their house did not flood.

“All I could think was, how can I help?” Dell says. “What can I do? What can I do?”

The answer: a lot.

All across southern Louisiana, thousands of people’s homes were ruined. Many people lost everything they owned. Even a small amount of water in a home can cause major damage. When the water recedes, it leaves behind mud, oil, dead worms, and more. Carpets must be ripped out and replaced. Damp and moldy walls must be demolished.

Students and teachers got to work. They helped people clean their homes, haul away trash, and salvage what they could. Donations poured in.

“It was amazing what people did for us,” says Skyler. His home took months to repair.

The Louisiana Flood of 2016 was the worst natural disaster in America since Hurricane Sandy in 2012. The storm dumped a staggering 3 feet of rain in some areas. That’s three times as much as fell during Hurricane Katrina in 2005.

Thirteen people died; an estimated 143,000 homes flooded. More than a year later, many people still struggle with the losses they suffered. Nine schools in the city remained closed all year. Thousands of students have been crowded into schools many miles from their homes.

Compared with so many across Louisiana, the people within the Episcopal community were fortunate. Episcopal reopened just a week after the flood. The damaged gym and fields were repaired within months. Dell and the football team played a winning season. Most important, the community continued to rally around those who needed help.

Like so many at Episcopal, the Botos family looks back on their experience mainly with gratitude. Addisyn misses the treasures she lost—her jewelry, her dolls, her Bible. But as her mom says, “That’s just stuff.”

“We’ve gained so much more than we lost,” Mrs. Botos goes on. “The lessons we’ve learned are so amazing. We feel that we have been blessed beyond our imagination.”

Addisyn agrees. “We are very lucky.”

The Louisiana Flood of 2016 was the worst natural disaster in the U.S. since Hurricane Sandy in 2012. The storm dumped 3 feet of rain in some areas. That’s three times as much as fell during Hurricane Katrina in 2005.

Thirteen people died. About 143,000 homes flooded. More than a year later, many people still struggle with the losses they suffered. Nine schools in the area stayed closed all year. Thousands of students were crowded into schools far from their homes.

Compared with many others, the people of the Episcopal community were lucky. The school reopened a week after the flood. The gym and fields were repaired within months. Dell and the football team played a winning season. And neighbors continued to help neighbors.

The Botos family looks back on their experience mainly with gratitude. Addisyn lost some special things. She misses her jewelry, her dolls, and her Bible. But as her mom says, “That’s just stuff.”

“We’ve gained so much more than we lost,” says Mrs. Botos. “The lessons we’ve learned are so amazing. We feel that we have been blessed beyond our imagination.”

Addisyn agrees. “We are very lucky.”

This article was originally published in the September 2017 issue.

This article was originally published in the September 2017 issue.