Rivers Rise. Campgrounds Need Real Plans

The recent flooding in Texas—most notably at Camp Mystic along the Guadalupe River, where young campers and counselors lost their lives—leaves my soul aching.

It brought back grim memories of the Shenandoah River flooding, and the dread and helplessness of losing everything I knew.

(The Hill family residence along the South Fork of the Shenandoah River in Bentonville, Va., on Nov. 7, 1985, following flooding from Hurricane Juan.)

Twice in my childhood, the ostensible hundred-year flood surged through—unbidden and relentless. The first, in November 1985—the so-called Election Day Flood—happened when I was barely a year old, and Shenandoah engulfed our home. The second, in 1996, saw her swell far beyond her usual confines. We only managed to save most heirlooms and necessities because neighbors rushed in with anything that had wheels and anyone with a pulse, hauling our belongings to higher ground—their kindness lifting our spirits just beyond the crest.

Cleanup was brutal. Mud, manure, my mother’s tears. The smell of rot, defeat, and uncertainty clung to everything. Canoes, cattle, fence posts, precious mementos of strangers—strewn across the valley. Debris from all she consumed, including the toxic brew of nearby Superfund sites.

The sheer awesomeness of Shenandoah’s might in full flex is ineffable—you cannot fully grasp it unless you’ve stood in her wake.

That is why my neighbors, my family, and I are deeply concerned about a request before local authorities to build another campground on Panhandle Road. There are already campgrounds nearby that have grown over decades, operated by folks connected to the land, the people, and the history here—some of the same neighbors who came to our aid still maintain these operations. This new proposal, however, has yet to show that same care or understanding. Getting to know this community—and truly listening—would go a long way.

There’s more to managing a campground than building fire pits and collecting checks.

At the Planning Commission hearing held on April 9, the applicant was asked how they would evacuate 100 campsites during a flood. In response, they offered a quick and overly simple answer: “a pickup truck.” It was jarring to hear. Although encouraged to address those concerns, they were approved to proceed. Yet at the Board of Supervisors hearing held on May 20, they returned with the same unchanged and unclear plan, continuing to show no real attention to these vital safety issues—or acknowledgment that this stretch of river is more than just mailboxes and land plots on a map.

I am not anti-tourism. Visitors bring benefits. But growth becomes frustrating when it’s pushed without regard for the strain and disruption it places on those who live here.

Tourism has become a buzzword in the run-up to the Board of Supervisors election this November—almost forty years to the day since the first of those two so-called centennial floods. I strive to be a good neighbor, but I am also compelled to raise these concerns before any approval is given.

I was barely here then… and now, I am here—a witness to what Shenandoah carried away, and the reminder she left behind.

Shenandoah has never bargained with me—or with anyone. And she won’t start now.

Jarred Hill (Parson Brown)
Bentonville, VA

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