One of my favorite places to be is on the river, Spring River in northern Arkansas to be exact. I have spent most of my life on the banks of this river… fishing, camping, and even hunting. My fondest childhood memories are with my grandfather on this river as a child, tagging along on fishing trips with him and falling asleep while the boat rocked gently back and forth and being carried home after dark in the strong arms of the grandfather I adored so.
As a teenager, I did not think much about fishing, but would spend every possible moment on the river with my friends. The water was often too cold for swimming, but was a refreshing relief on the hottest of days. We’d only stay in the water long enough to cool off and then would sit on the banks and warm in the sun, laughing and giggling and making memories for another day.
The river was my escape from the pressures of the world of which I knew very little at that age. I probably took the river for granted during those years. It was just a fun place to be with friends and family. A place I longed to be more than any other.
As a young adult, I moved away from my precious river and childhood home to a place where sitting on the banks of a river and passing the time away was only a dream, but 
I never forgot it. Daily I yearned to return. When my three oldest sons were nearing their teen years, I made the decision to move home, back to the country and river that I loved so much. I wanted my children to experience the joys I had as a child. We spent every weekend on the river, sometimes just exploring, sometimes just sitting on the banks. Once the boys learned the art of casting a rod, fishing obsessed their lives. I was elated to see the children enjoying the river as much as I had.
Fifteen years later, I’m still enjoying the river and now have my own little stretch of river that runs through our family’s farm. Many weekends are spent at our cabin on this mile and a half of river. Though fishing is my passion, often I never even pick up my fishing rod while there, though I can hardly resist the urge to walk out into the cold water and feel the current running past my bare legs. It’s the place I always long to be.
I have always considered the river my friend, my place of refuge, a place I can escape from all cares of the cruel world. 
I guess I have always feared the river to an extent, but only recently have I seen the anger and the power this river can exert. I have always gone to the river… but recently the river came to me.
Flood level on the Spring River is 10 foot. Normally, the river stays at about 5 foot at the bridge in old Hardy town, but when the rain falls and conditions are right, the river rises. Often this is just temporary and the river drops back to normal in no time. However, long periods of heavy rain, where the ground is already soaked causes the river to rise fast and furious. It turns into a raging monster, a weapon of mass destruction that can and will destroy anything in its path. It has no conscious.
March 18th-19th brought heavy rains to the Ozarks and my home of Hardy, Arkansas. An excess of 10 inches of rain fell in a very short period of time. Mandatory evacuation of homes and businesses along the river were put into motion quickly. Roads were closed due to the water rising across what used to be busy highways. Schools and daycares were closed early in 
an effort to get the children home before routes were closed or impassible. Rain waters from northern states, especially Missouri, were flowing south into the Spring River, causing it to rise even faster and higher. The river rose to 22 foot, 12 foot above flood stage. The sight was unbelievable. The destruction unthinkable.
There were those who thought they could ride out the rising waters. My son, Jason who works for the local volunteer Fire and Rescue Department, assisted in the rescue of three individuals who had watched the river rise in the past and felt no threat. This time though, their decision to remain in their homes, resulted in having to be rescued by boat.
Many watched as pieces of their lives were washed down stream. Huge trees floated down the river. Propane tanks, vehicles, BBQ grills, refrigerators, hot water heaters, parts of homes, dead animals, and other large debris were now in the river’s possession. Luckily, no one lost their lives in this storm.
Our cabin did not fare 
well this time. Windows were broken, screens torn off, furniture missing and destroyed. It was hard to fight back the tears as Tommy and I finally were able to reach our cabin several days later to view the destruction. Mud cakes the floors and walls. They will have to be replaced. Six-foot high walls of rock and sand stand in our hayfields that were once green with clover. It will be a long summer repairing what was once our haven.
It’s been less than 30 days since the last flood. In fact, twice since the first flood we've watched the river rise above flood level. The river again is rising. It is 3:30 AM and we’re above flood stage already. We haven’t recovered from the last major flood or the tornadoes that ripped through our area not so long ago. By morning, who knows what we will face? They are predicting this flood to be as bad, or worse than the first. The rains have already forced water in the basement of our home tonight. I’m not angry. We have chosen to live here, just like the folks who chose to live in California where earthquakes are common or Florida where hurricanes frequent. 
Spring is upon us and we look forward to spending days sitting along the banks of our River. Once again we will hear the children giggling and laughing as they sit on the dock catching perch or splashing in the water pursuing crawdads. I’ll walk out into the current, waist deep, maybe with spinning reel in my hand in hopes of catching a beautiful smallmouth. For a while, we’ll forget the floods. For a while, we'll forget the river's anger, destruction and unpredictable nature. We will be forgiving of the pain that the river has caused us this past month.
Floods will come again, no doubt. I'd like to say that next time we'll be more prepared. But we won't... we can't. Meanwhile, we'll battle the river in another way... pursuing that elusive bass or walleye, maybe a catfish or two. Squeals of delight will be heard as anglers, lined on the bridges and riverbanks, reel in their catches for the day, sharing the river we all love so much... the place we all long to be. For a little while we'll all forget...
