My husband and I purchased a mid-century fixer-upper a little over two years ago, and one of the biggest mysteries we’ve yet to solve is the sheer amount of lumber and drywall we found hanging from the ceiling in our basement. It looks like the laundry area was framed in at one point, but the only indicators were a handful of two-by-fours nailed to the upstairs floor joists above the washing machine and some bedraggled drywall clinging to the beams. When we embarked on a plumbing project a while ago, we tore down the fragments and stored the two-by-fours, which were in relatively good condition, in the basement for a rainy day.
Our fourth wedding anniversary was a nightmare. Within minutes of arriving at our evening plans, our phones rang in unison to let us know that our basement water sensor detected moisture. We rushed home to find about an inch of standing water in the basement. The unusual deluge filled one of our window wells and spilled over the ledge into the unfinished half of the basement. Not long after, the exterior stairwell leading into the basement filled with water and gushed over the door jamb—right into the finished half of the space.
We broke out the Shop-Vac, but even with the vacuum running and a broom sweeping water toward the floor drain, we couldn’t keep up. For every bucket of water we lugged up the stairs and dumped in the yard, two more poured in. My husband called his dad and brother, who got there as quickly as they could with additional Shop-Vacs. My brother-in-law, a chronic tinkerer and scrappy problem-solver, found wood sitting in the corner of our basement—the two-by-fours we’d been saving for a rainy day.
Together, the three of them built a primitive shelter over our stairwell using the two-by-fours, an old tarp, and some loose screws. Much to my surprise, it slowed the water enough to allow the drain at the bottom of the stairwell to keep up with the flow, and water stopped breaking over the door jamb. When we got the water mostly cleaned up and the humidifier cranked as high as it would go, our family departed, leaving us to salvage the last few hours of our anniversary. Within two minutes of my father-in-law’s station wagon pulling out of the driveway, the power flickered before failing entirely and plunging our little house into darkness.
Throughout the evening of mopping and slurping and drying, I clenched my jaw and kept quiet. I was too stressed and irritable to even try to make light of the situation, so I kept my head down and sopped up as much water as I could with my limited supply of old bath towels and prayed the stack of cardboard boxes in the corner wouldn’t mildew too much before we could dispose of them. But the power outage was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. I barked a laugh, which shifted to a cry, and hot, fat tears rolled down my cheeks as I blinked my eyes, trying to adjust them to the darkness. I was hot and sticky and just wanted to shower, but I couldn’t even do that unless I lathered up in the backyard.
My husband, ever the calm to my storm, quietly lit the oil lamps I kept on the mantle as decoration and set them in front of the mirror above the fireplace so their glow would be cast throughout the room. He picked out a clean set of pajamas for me and nestled me on the couch with a glass of water. After a few minutes, the tears stopped falling, and I sniffled and rubbed my nose. He sat on the opposite end of the couch and began reading to me by lamplight.
We experienced flooding again the next night, mostly through the window well. Mercifully, the power came back on the next morning, so we were able to keep up with it using the Shop-Vac and a sump pump we picked up at the home improvement store. When the window well was filling faster than a bathtub, we realized we needed to do something else to cover it—the gutter along the back of the house was overflowing and dumping onto the warped cover, which funneled it directly into the corrugated metal well. With some bricks and tarps and additional scrap wood, my husband managed to create a tent over the problem window. We finally got to bed around 2 a.m.
Over the next couple of months, we kept the tarps in place, unsure what to expect from the rest of thunderstorm season. We had our back gutter replaced in the fall with a deeper, commercial-grade one, and we purchased new window well covers to replace the warped plastic half moons that had likely been part of our house since it was built in the ‘70s. We snaked the basement drains, pulling out a startling length of roots in the process, but they seem to be keeping up with the rain now. The sump pump has sat unused in the corner since its debut in July.
At some point in early fall, my husband disassembled the makeshift roof he, his brother, and his dad built in the middle of a thunderstorm on the night of our fourth anniversary. The tarps were bleached from the sun, and the stairwell had become home to several varieties of algae. He unscrewed the two-by-fours from the railing and pulled the shanty from the back of the house. Still in relatively good condition, the boards were placed in our carport for another rainy day.
I’ve been asking my husband to build a gate for our fence, a primitive, three-sided enclosure made from farm fencing and rebar stakes connected to the back of our house, for a while. One day, he grabbed those two-by-fours from the carport and disappeared into the basement. He called me down several hours later to take a look at the gate he’d constructed from scrap wood. It was a carefully mitered square with a diagonal cross piece, and he planned to mount it with matte black hinges to match the other hardware around our house. He stained it a dark brown and found a matte black hasp to match the hinges. A week later, he had it affixed to the posts in the backyard and ready for use.
While it won’t last forever, it’s perfect for now—a good use of the scrap wood we had waiting in our carport. I’m eager to spend warm spring days in my rocker beneath the sour cherry tree, watching Bear lounge in the shade. And on days when none of us want to be outside, I can look out my kitchen window to see the little garden gate my husband made for me from the boards we’d been saving for a rainy day.
For some reason, this made me cry. Beautiful writing, Emma, as always.
Even though I already knew about the event, you had my heart rate up just reading about the mopping, slurping and drying. But calmed me back down with your wrap up. Gate looks great and I see Bear was the project manager.
I know all about flooded basements. In Michigan, we had 4 floods in our completely finished basement. The first of which, had 4 foot of water. My drums were down there along with my den, bathroom, bedroom , laundry room and a living room. The other 2 floods weren’t as bad. Only 2 foot of water. And finally, the last one had about an inch covering the floor. We went from a carpet floor to tile. Threw out multiple items, toys & furniture. But you know, it could have been worse. I heard my neighbor crying outside, went outside to see what was upsetting her only to find out that her basement was completely filled up with water, all the…
It's nice to have a quiet voice in the midst of chaos.
Those two by fours helped me understand how tribulations can lead (through perseverance) to hope. I’ve been pondering that for weeks. Thanks.