MENARD — When I opened my eyes at 8:30 on the morning of July 4th, I had no idea I was waking up to a nightmare.
The first thing I noticed was the eerie stillness—no sound of kids playing; no hum of the morning. Just silence … until I stepped out of bed and felt the cold, unmistakable touch of water at my feet.
I rushed to the hallway and froze.
Water was seeping in from the back door, and the front of my house.
I stood there, barefoot on the brand-new flooring we just installed, and in horror, I watched the water enter like an uninvited guest.
Panicked, I grabbed every towel I could find, throwing them down one after another — desperately trying to plug both locations where water was coming in. But it was useless.
The towels became soaked instantly, and the water just kept on coming.
But it wasn’t just creeping in anymore—it was already rising fast, inside the first home we’ve ever owned, and where we just finished renovations.
New floors. New ceilings. New furniture. We poured our time, savings, and energy into turning our house into a home. Now, that same home was turning into a flood zone, right before my eyes.
“I was alone. And the water was rising.”
Action in a Crisis
That’s when my phone started blowing up.
Call after call, text after text—family begging me to leave; to get the kids to safety; to find higher ground.
But it was just me, my two young children under six, my elderly mother, and my 5-year-old nephew who was visiting for the holiday weekend.
My fiancé—a firefighter—was on duty three hours away. I was alone. And the water was rising.
What I saw in my front yard was worse than anything I could’ve imagined. Our yard was a full floodplain.
With the water pouring in through the two entries, I knew I had to act fast.
I was trying to stay calm for the children, but inside I was panicking.
Thankful for Good Neighbors
A strong current formed in my side yard, moving aggressively, carrying anything and everything that crossed its path. I watched as our chicken coop, located on one side of our property, began to lift off the ground.
Within moments, the flood snapped its frame.
Wood and debris scattered instantly, and sadly, three of our chickens got stuck underneath and drowned before we could do anything. (Our other 10 chickens made it to safety afterwards.)
Thankfully, my kind neighbors came to help.
They turned off our electricity, helping prevent the risk of electrical fires.
They also risked the dangerous current to help rescue my remaining birds. If they hadn’t stepped in when they did, I think the situation could’ve turned far more tragic for us.
With the water rising and safety no longer an option in our home, we quickly gathered the children, and waded through water to a neighbor’s home on higher ground.
Their kindness was lifesaving.
After Flood Waters Recede
Almost two weeks later, the reality has fully set in.
Our floors are buckling from the water damage, despite all efforts to dry them out. The ceilings we had just redone will need to be replaced.
Half of my garden—a personal source of pride and peace—was destroyed by the floodwaters.
The chicken coop is gone, and with it, several of our outdoor items: fishing gear, furniture, coolers, and even our canoes.
But here’s the thing—we made it. My children, my mother, my nephew—we are all okay.
When you’re watching your house and belongings drown in front of you, you realize that material things can be replaced. People cannot.
The loss felt heavy, but the relief of having each other outweighs everything else.
“To those who haven’t experienced it firsthand—believe us when we say, water is silent until it isn’t. It’s slow until it’s fast.
And it’s devastating.”
The flood swept through Menard with a force no one was fully prepared for, leaving behind damaged homes, washed-out roads, and heartache to all those who call this place home.
Water levels climbed quickly, overwhelming the San Saba River and spilling into neighborhoods, businesses, and public spaces.
Families were forced to evacuate, some with little more than the clothes on their backs. Power outages and water disruptions followed, and the cleanup has been long and exhausting.
Community Spirit
Yet through the destruction, the strength of Menard’s small but tight-knit community shines brightly. Neighbors helped neighbors, volunteers stepped up, and people, who had lost so much, still found ways to give.
To anyone reading this who has been affected by the recent Texas floods: you are not alone.
To those who haven’t experienced it firsthand—believe us when we say, water is silent until it isn’t. It’s slow until it’s fast.
And it’s devastating.
DaLeesa Quain is a journalist with a background in pre-nursing from Angelo State University, who brings a diverse and grounded perspective to her storytelling. She lives in Menard with her family and covers local government and other subjects for the Concho Observer.
