I proposed rebuilding the dam. Not as my private property, but as a publicly managed flood control structure. I told the room that FEMA grant money would cover the bulk of it, and that my firm would lead the construction at pure cost, with zero profit margin.
I told them we would use the original 1793 stones my contractor had meticulously saved.
The new HOA board president called for a vote. Two hundred and seven hands went up in favor.
The rebuild took fourteen months. FEMA funded $4.2 million. The HOA, under new leadership, contributed $200,000 as an apology. The new dam stands eleven feet taller than the original, faced with the beautiful 18th-century cut stone my ancestors laid by hand. It is certified to withstand a 150-year flood event.
We donated the old mill building to the community association under a 99-year lease to serve as a public history museum.
I kept my 180 acres. I kept my lake.
The evening the water finally reached its normal level again, I walked down to the rebuilt dock at dusk. I watched the bats fly out of the old mill loft, just like they always had. The valley was quiet, the water was still, and my late wife’s old salt cellar sat right where she had left it on the porch railing.
