Frontline Flood Relief in Leslie County: Part 1
by Matthew Sparks
Your second catastrophic flood hits differently. Especially when it literally hits your hometown. I consider most of southeastern Kentucky my home—like many deeply rooted families here, I’m connected by blood or marriage or the Appalachian experience to most of the surrounding counties. This kinship compelled me to act during the thousand-year flood in 2022, but Leslie County, my home in the truest sense of word, was spared for the most part. It was perhaps this relative “sparing” that compelled me and so many other grassroots community volunteers to begin organizing and heading further afield in our relief efforts the last time, but this time, we were at ground zero.
By the time my power came back on after nearly two days on the 18th of February, my county was in full-blown crisis mode. Most of us had never seen the river so high. It was freezing cold out. Snow was coming. About half of the county was underwater—specifically the Confluence/Dryhill/Wilder Branch area. You could see it all over Facebook: there was a catastrophe unfolding in my hometown. And I knew that the following day I’d be getting a lot of texts, and hearing from a lot of people I hadn’t heard from since 2022. This time, however, it wasn’t chaos—we had been through this rodeo before—and although we would be fighting against the rising rivers, we were much more familiar with what we had to do.
The first order of business was to get as much mucking out done before we got buried in snow again and the temperatures drastically dropped. Some community members had assessed the damages on Cutshin Creek and identified one house we could go to work on almost immediately. They needed tools. I developed a bit of a reputation for myself as an extreme networker and fundraiser in 2022, so they contacted me. I knew what to do. I made some posts on Facebook and began tapping into those mutual aid and local networks. Very shortly I was able to raise about $300—enough for a Lowes run and to get the basic muckout gear for a first response. Mind you, Leslie County had not even been declared a disaster yet; no volunteers or outside aid had even entered the county. We were truly on the front lines. I made my Lowes trip feeling the familiar strain on the supply chains that I recalled in 2022. Hazard’s downtown had been flooded, as was Pike County further east. All the folks from around 3 counties (if not more) were coming to Hazard to get supplies. I got lucky—I arrived just as a shipment of squeegees was coming in. I made the delivery up Cutshin, briefly and warmly greeted my old friends. We developed a plan of action for the week and I went back to my office. There wasn’t much more I could do that day, and I still had the responsibilities of a 9-5.
The following day, I had been able to collect about $500 more in donations through a combination of local channels, “expat-alachians,” and Eastern Kentucky Mutual Aid. I donated a heater of my own to some families up Cutshin, and was able to wrangle some dehumidifiers up as well. Cleanup was underway, but it would have to wait: snow and freezing temps were coming. People would need food, water, fuel, heat, and some would need construction materials. The second round of donations went immediately to that. Plus I’d have to winterize my family’s own home and prepare to possibly get snowed in yet again—and for all that would bring for the work week.
After an effective two days, we did what we could to manage the crisis, and the snow began to fall on the bitter cold, moist, soggy, flooded ground of Leslie County, much of which was without power, water, and about half of the northern part of which was underwater. We had a good start, but saving momentum would be critical. This was going to be a long haul.