“Tri-me-delphia” — A Flood Story

Photo by Ashlie Howard

I’m Ashlie Howard and this is my story of the night of the flood at 5714 National Road.

June 14th was a productive day for me. I had just replaced the banister railings on both sides of my steps that led up to my back porch, cleaned off the porch, and set up the new storage bench I had put together the day before. I had also laid a new patio the previous weekend. The place was really coming together. I had been steadily working on my trailer almost every weekend since 2023. My plan was to sell it and use that money for a down payment on purchasing a house. 

The kids wanted to have a fire, as we did most weekends, so I was going between cooking a late dinner of bratwurst and corn on the cob on the grill and building a fire. It started to rain just as I built the fire, and I thought the fire was a lost cause. But a few minutes later, the rain let up, and the fire was a success. Dusk was coming soon, and we were ready to cozy up around the fire as soon as we ate supper. My phone rang, and it was Pam, my stepmother, who lived a couple miles away from me. She sounded a little worried and told me that the creek was coming up and that the kids and I should go spend the night at her house. I thought she was overreacting because I looked at the creek, which I lived alongside, and it wasn’t up that high at all –maybe a foot or two. I reluctantly agreed but was annoyed that the fire was going well and I would now have to put it out … and the brats were ready to come off the grill. It was barely raining. I got off the phone and took supper off the grill and made plates for the kids and me. I explained to them that we were going to Roneys Point to spend the evening with Pam as a safety precaution. I told them to go ahead and eat, and I would go put the fire out and then we could head out.

I never put the fire out. Instead, I got an ear-piercing alert on my phone for flash flooding. I walked outside onto the porch and my jaw dropped. The creek had risen at least six feet in those few minutes I was cleaning up the dishes from supper prep and feeding the kids. The water was about two feet away from the top of the creek bank,and my porch was only about six feet away from the edge of the creek bank. It was still barely raining. I turned around and walked inside and told the kids to get their shoes on and scarf down dinner because we had to go. I threw the kids dinner plates in the sink and tried to locate my three cats. I told the kids to go wait in the car, and that I would be there in a minute. My plan was to carry the cats to the car, but after Keke clawed the crap out of me (she could probably sense the danger on its way,) I had to open the windows and hope for the best. I grabbed my purse and locked the door as I left. The creek was now up past the railroad ties that lined the creek bank and was inches from my porch. I backed out of the driveway and turned to head to Roneys Point – only two minutes from my place. Just as I did, my phone rang. It was Pam again. She was hysterical and crying. "You've got to get to high ground! You can’t come here! The water is over the bridge and there’s a car with people inside going under it! Gooooo noooow!" (I’m getting chills while typing this.) It was STILL barely raining. 

I thought I could maybe go up Dallas Pike hill, but when I rounded the bend, I could see down the road, and it was nothing but water coming straight for us. The sound of the water was something I’ll never forget. I did a U-turn and slammed my foot on the gas. My mind was racing. I didn’t know where to go. I knew that if Dallas Pike was flooded, so were all the other side roads that led to high ground. I pushed the accelerator down and said a prayer. Out loud. I told the kids it was going to be okay and just sped through Triadelphia. My plan was to get to the highway. I had to hold my breath and plow through water by Bleifus Tire and somewhere else (I can’t remember the exact location) along route 40. Then I remembered the Super 8 Motel sat up on a bank with higher ground behind it, so I hit the accelerator again and tried to be as calm as possible in front of the kids. I know they could see the fear in my eyes through the rearview mirror because as soon as we made it to Super 8 and I parked, my daughter opened her door and threw up in the parking lot. I comforted her for a minute or two, and then we noticed commotion on the Shilling bridge by Marathon. People were screaming. Flashlights everywhere. People running to assist others. There were families in the parking lot crying together. A fire truck pulled in, and we saw a tree fall onto it. It was pure chaos. I began calling friends and family to check on them and tell them we were safe. It was still barely raining. 

We sat in my Jeep in shock at what was happening. The power was out, and everything was moving so quickly. I couldn’t stop thinking of my neighbors, my friends in Triadelphia and Valley Grove, family on Roneys Point, and my cats. The roads were blocked off. I couldn’t get anywhere if I wanted to. I said another prayer (in my head this time.) My neighbor, April, called me and told me that she was safe but had to jump from her trailer as it imploded while being washed down route 40. She explained that her trailer struck mine. Mine jolted left toward the (original) creek, wiped out my shed, and struck the bank on the opposite side of the original creek and hers jolted right toward route 40. My heart sank. I made a post on Facebook. I was terrified but learned the water level was going down now. 

I took the kids inside Super 8 for a little reprieve. There was no power and it was hot. They still charged me full price for a room. I didn’t care. We traversed the steps up to the 4th floor and tried to get some rest. It was probably about 1 a.m. at this point. I couldn't sleep. I just wanted to go home. I laid there until I thought the kids were asleep and went into the bathroom and shut the door. I sat down on the toilet and cried like I’ve never cried before, shoving my face into a towel so I didn’t wake the kids. I must have, because I looked up from the towel and my daughter was standing there. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, "I love you, Mom. Everything is going to be okay." I hugged her so tightly and cried even harder. We cried together and laid back down...all three of us in one bed snuggled together like cabbage rolls. I’m not even sure if I actually slept. Five a.m. hit and I jumped up, woke the kids and we headed home. 

During our gut-wrenching trip "home," what we saw was astonishing. Everything was destroyed. Mud and debris everywhere. Roads missing. Homes destroyed. Power lines and telephone poles down. People standing outside with their phones in disbelief. People crying. I called my big sister. I needed her. I described everything I saw as I drove through Triadelphia going 10 mph. Bridges washed out. Storage containers everywhere … mangled. Groups of houses that no longer looked like houses, but scrap yards. Vehicles crushed. It was a wasteland. 

As I rounded the bend past the old Scott Lumber (now FMS) and crossed the bridge, I could see my trailer smashed up against a telephone pole destroyed with my GMC Envoy crushed up against it –nowhere near where it was the day before. I cried some more. My little piece of heaven was now a hellscape. Everything was  just … gone. What used to be my yard now looked like a rock bed. You could see the path the water took to the drain along the roadside. It was littered with busted drainpipes, glass, shards of porcelain, clothing, and tons of other things I couldn't identify. My neighbor’s porch was shoved up under my trailer somehow with no other sign of her home in sight. I was in shock. I hadn’t even looked inside yet. 

The door to my trailer was pushed open from the water. I peeked inside and cried some more. There was more of the creek in my home than there was in the creek. You could see the water line about 12 inches up the walls and appliances. Nothing was where it started and everything was covered in mud and debris. There were items in my home that didn’t belong to me. There were logs and sticks in my home that certainly didn’t belong to me. Everything was everywhere. So much mud and muck! My life had been shaken, stirred, and dumped out. 

I soon located two of my three cats. Keke and Gypsy were frightened and dirty … but No Titus. I couldn’t find him.  

My survival mode kicked in at this point, but I was still in shock. I called a couple friends, they rented a U-Haul, and we got to work on saving what little we could. I kept hearing "nobody's coming to save you" in my head. But I was wrong. EVERYONE came to save me! 

The love, support, and assistance I have received since the flood has been more baffling than the destruction of the flood,in an amazing way. Strangers helping strangers,becoming friends. People I haven’t seen or spoken to since high school reaching out to help. Individuals banning together to deliver supplies, food, and water up and down route 40. Nonstop. In extreme heat. With smiles on their faces, and shoulders to cry on. Churches working around the clock to offer meals, clothing, supplies, support, and help in any way. Fire Departments worked tirelessly to offer supplies and assistance. Local nonprofits banding together to help. An old high school friend, Shaun, worked tirelessly around the clock (along with so many others) to help in any way ... AND he found and brought my lost kitty, Titus, home to me two weeks after the flood!

The dedication and fortitude of this valley have been unbreakable. I used to think Triadelphia was "okay," as I grew up here poor. This flood completely changed my perception of this tremendous little town. It’s now my favorite place ever. I’ve met more people, gotten more hugs and words of encouragement from strangers, and received more help than I could even imagine. And it’s all authentic. I’ve dubbed it "Tri-me-delphia," because you don’t play with this town. Hell or high water,just tri-me-delphia. We will overcome all the things. I spray painted a few messages on what was left of my home to show my love and support for my town. Our town. And although my memories, hard work, and home are gone (it was demolished on the 4th of July,) my respect and love for the Ohio Valley remains. One Love.