I live in a small city called Lodi (pronounced Low-Die! Get it right people!). It’s an old city. It was founded as a village in the Pleasant Valley District. At the time, Wisconsin was still a territory and hadn’t attained Statehood. The city’s founder, Isaac Palmer picked the location because of the water potential provided by Spring Creek. A saw mill and later a grist mill were both powered by Spring Creek. Lodi was literally built around Spring Creek. Our creek threads itself throughout the entire city, even passing under Main Street. I have two routes I use to get my daughter to school. One route crosses Spring Creek twice, the other crosses the creek three times.

Every winter, we get snow, and every spring the big thaw happens. When this thaw happens, Spring Creek floods. This is a regular thing, it happens like clockwork. Many implements have been put into place to deal with this regular flood, there are a number of retaining walls and one of our parks appears to volunteer as a flood plain. The damage is typically nicely contained. Two to three days later everything returns to normal and Lodi begins to enjoy the arrival of spring! In a way, the annual flood can be viewed as a springtime celebration.

This year was different. The first half of this winter was mild and pleasant. Then February happened. We were hit with a record amount of late season snow with one, maybe two polar vortexes (I lost track. It was really freaking cold!). This late pile-on of snow meant that the thaw was more dramatic than normal and Spring Creek’s flood was more than twice what it normally is. Our entire downtown was flooded, basements were filled, parking lots submerged, sections of road were washed out and streets were closed. Later that day, a gas leak was detected and power to Main Street was lost. The source of the problem was difficult to discover and even more difficult to deal with due to the flooding. I was driving Regina to school, about once a minute I was uttering a self-censored exclamation of what was happening to my Home town. My “secret” shortcut road was closed, the creek was coming close to touching the bridges I cross. Our creek was not friendly and quaint. It was angry and menacing.

I dropped off Reggie and drove past the floodplain/park. It never looked worse, it looked like a lake. The foot bridge I crossed for my high school graduation ceremony was in the middle of that lake, both ends submerged. The playground equipment was underwater. I know that there is a baseball diamond down there, but only because I know where it is. I was so thankful our Home is on high ground and suffered no damage.

When I returned from dropping off Reggie, I jumped onto social media. There were problems everywhere, I was horrified as I read posts about home damage, business damage and calls to remain calm. Then I saw a post from the local police department “If you can, please come down and help fill sandbags.” I began thinking how shorthanded they must be, there are people who cannot help because they are at work, or dealing with their own property damage, or are simply unable. I was safe, my basement was fine. I needed no such help and I had the time. I stared at the post, thoughtful.

My daughters have listened to me say to them hundreds of times, “be the neighbor you would want.” Another thing I am always saying more to myself, “Be the kind of man you want your daughters to fall in Love with.”

I had a to-do list, I had plans that would keep me at Home. I was in no mood to fill sandbags.

That’s when my inner voice decided it was time for an intervention, “No one is EVER in the mood to fill sandbags!”

I was annoyed, “but my to-do list! These things are, I don’t know…Urgent?”

“As urgent as a basement filled with two feet of water?” It went on, “I know I would appreciate help if my Home was threatened.”

My conscience was right. If I did not help, knowing I could have helped, it would eat at me, that inner voice will never let me forget it. Living a life with no regrets could be interpreted as selfish, but I have come to realize that it can go both ways and also be selfless. Not helping would become a regret. “Time to be that neighbor I talk about.” I muttered to myself as I grabbed my shovel and work gloves.

I arrived on site expecting a tiny handful of folks, I figured it would mostly be city workers filling sandbags. I had to stop and stare for a few moments, there was no handful of people, there was a crowd, and they outnumbered the ones wearing hi-vis vests.

I was only able to give a couple hours of my time before I had to pick Reggie up from her three-hour school day. It wasn’t much, but it was better than not showing up at all. I figured I could make at least a small impact. I’m pretty good at physical labor. I’ve done it ever since I was old enough to earn a paycheck. Despite my abilities where it comes to physical labor, I found myself a little sore that evening. I have a bad shoulder and an injured elbow. Both of those parts had a lot to say afterward!

I told you that so I can tell you this: there were people who were at it all day, some for over twelve hours, some even worked through the night—it’s humbling and it maintains my faith in mankind. It made me complain less about that sore shoulder. The efforts were such that despite trying to help, I still have regrets about not being able to do more.

When Annie and I decided to move our family from the big city back to my hometown, we were leaving a crime-ridden neighborhood. Now, after living in our small town for a few years, I’ve looked back and I’ve concluded that large cities do not encourage friendliness, they don’t discourage it, but neighborly behavior takes a concerted effort.

That effort is reduced in places like Lodi. The choice to be neighborly is nearly taken away! Every time I set foot out of our Home, I bump into someone I know. I know their children, I know where they live. And I can easily know if their Home is being threatened by a flooded creek.

On the day of the flood, It was heart-warming to see that I was not the only one who answered that call to help. I could call all those volunteers heroes, but that’s not really the case. What happened around those piles of sand and pallets of sandbags was not so much heroic as it was neighborly. It was simply the right thing to do. Now that I think about it all, it actually does make it heroic–a quiet, modest heroism, the best kind of heroism.

I Love my little city. I Love my neighbors and I Love how so many came together to help.

It has been just over a week since the flood. In the big picture, it looks like Lodi, as a whole, actually lucked out. There are many neighboring communities that are still fighting back their flood issues. Our creek has receded, the fences are lined with detritus, sandbags have been set to the curb for pick up, and washed out sections of street are getting patched. We all got through this and we are all looking forward to an incredible summer.

I for one, feel a little better about telling my daughters to be the kind of neighbor you wish to have. I am now deeply realizing that an example must be set to back up statements like that, an example must be set tomorrow as well, and every day for that matter.

I am proud to call this city my Home, I am proud to have the neighbors I have, and I am proud of the example we modestly displayed to the rest of our world.