Christabelle Kirkham
Carlisle, PA
2024, Junior, Creative Writing

We called it The Grand Canyon, that fissure breaking the ground beneath our feet, stretching out across saturated property. It was wide, deep, a clean cut like the one on my sister’s knee, from that rock past the line of trees. It had uneven sides that kept growing, expanding, caving as more earth was sucked into its depths. The chasm was long, sinking fast like a stone dropped into the lake – only this break left more than a splash of destruction in its wake. Instead of splitting surface tension, it split stability, memories, the moss we’d lay on to watch the geese as they flew by, high in the sky. Looking at The Grand Canyon, I’m wishing I could fly, wishing that the sight of glittering sunlight on dew-drop grass wouldn’t seem like the past when facing a cut that’s erasing the perfect expanse upon which young legs used to dance.

Paddles slicing the surface, making waves, working to save an object-littered lake, we wandered searching for the items now strewn in the expanse of somewhere – a place used as a comforting phrase and yet impossible to trace. In the aftermath of change, chaos became commonplace as the lake quickly filled with the lucky few who still had a kayak or a canoe. We slid past one another, exchanging words about damages and if we were insured, asking for information but wanting assurances. “It’ll be okay, events like this happen every day.”

The day before had given no signs about what was in store. The constant thud of raindrops on rooftops was no cause for alarm, wouldn’t create any harm. We smudged windows with our noses as they pressed against the glass, dreaming of how warm the lake would be once the storm had passed. Sleep uninhibited, no one noticed as the tide began to rise and water seeped up, climbing high, past the sand and onto the land, blanketing it under excess. It was only a trickle of rain, not a hurricane. So why had Mother Earth’s rug been pulled from under our feet? We were falling, flailing in the wake of a flood, yet still blissfully unaware in a deep sleep.

A woman’s house was buried in mud, to the point where only the roof was visible. There were buildings where the basements and first floors were completely destroyed, flooded unforgivingly. These were people living on their own, no one else there to help. These were people who’d come up to the lake to retire, who couldn’t leave their wheelchair, much less attempt to fix water-rotted stairs. These were people who relied on the community, relied on the stability we built together, the support we extended towards each other. Our foundations were shaken and, teetering on the edge of uncertainty, no one knew what would fall through the newly formed cracks.

Damages extended beyond personal property; the flood had found its way to the town. We stood in silence, bright rubber boots sinking into mud at the top of our driveway as the extent of ruination shifted into clarity, as if someone had adjusted our binoculars. Roads were closed, but it wasn’t as if many would be able to use their cars. Large chucks of concrete had collapsed as the earth underneath melted into mud and fell away. Without a foundation, it’s impossible to stay. The streets looked as if one of the giants from those storybooks upstairs had found their way to our little lake and thrown a tantrum. Crashing this way and that, turning over tables, stomping across roads, collapsing our community under its oversized feet. Perhaps that is what happened because only giant tears could cause this much disruption, not rain. Rain was where we danced, what tickled our skin, and raced down car windows for raindrop games. Rain was not, could not be, what tore up our town, our sanctuary.

When the rain washed away the dirt, it unearthed a sewage system, which broke in the storm, leaking toxins into our lake, our forest, our land. The pipes were mangled, strewn about the sand in exposed, lonely positions as we gathered to stare with blank faces. We stood as still as sentries, my little cousins clinging to adult knees in the midst of shocked silence. This was worse than any storm I could remember, worse than when a tree falls on a powerline, or when a panel flies off the roof in severe wind. This was money lost from the hotels that could no longer support tourists because we had no sewage system. This was money lost from the restaurants that could no longer function because they were flooded. This was money lost from the owners of summer cabins who would not add to our economy because they could no longer swim in the lake. It was filled with toxins from the fractured sewage systems and the acidity in the rain. This was money needed to fix these problems, to restart these businesses, to repair our community. We were the pipes, alone, trapped in a cycle that seemed to go on. This was climate change.

Greenhouse gases from human action cloud our atmosphere, causing temperatures to rise as we clutch the sun’s heat in our skies. Warmer temperatures dry out the land, as parched soil now gasps in thirst and clouds fill for heavier rains with this increased evaporation. When will we find alleviation? A dry earth with sudden intense rain results in flash floods, washing away our earth and leaving disaster in its place. Sulfur dioxide and nitrogen oxides react with the water and oxygen in our clouds to create acid rain that, when it crashes down, contaminates our lakes, our forests – the plants and animals that rely on those ecosystems. Climate change is killing not just our communities, where we stumble blindly with voices we won’t use, but the communities of those who cannot speak for themselves. We are responsible.

Stone-silent, alone, in a place of destruction we used to call home, one woman picks up a shovel and starts to recover. She’s joined by the man who was crouching in the sand. Soon everyone is lending a helping hand, the community working together to restore this place, our home. It will be somewhere our children can go. We will not be tethered to this sinking ship. We will rise into the skies, and we will fight for the prize that is our earth. We will stand together, help each other, because inaction is not an option anymore. It never should have been. We cannot give up on these ecosystems that have graciously given us so much, no matter what.

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The Grand Canyon