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Yahoo
26-04-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Bonnet Carre Spillway saves New Orleans, punishes everyone and everything else
The Bonnet Carre Spillway has been opened more than a dozen times since it was constructed nearly 100 years ago, but the protection it offers New Orleans' levee system comes at a cost: The rush of fresh water into surrounding brackish estuaries can harm the species living there, sometimes killing off entire fisheries and reefs. As the Mississippi River continues to rise, forecasters say another opening this year is a near certainty, news that hasn't been welcomed by all on the Gulf Coast. A critical engineering feat of its time, it's hard to imagine where New Orleans would be today without the spillway. But despite all the good it has done, many in South Louisiana and South Mississippi have a complicated relationship with the long-standing structure — one that both saves and hurts so much. The need for something like the spillway became evident after the Great Flood of 1927, when months of heavy rain across the South inundated the Mississippi River in seven states and displaced hundreds of thousands of Americans. As the river swelled, Louisiana officials grew increasingly concerned that the levee system protecting New Orleans could break, flooding the city and causing potentially catastrophic damage. To spare the Crescent City, officials took drastic and controversial action: In April 1927, dynamite was used to break a levee downstream from New Orleans in Caernarvon, sending floodwaters rushing into St. Bernard and Plaquemines parishes and displacing roughly 10,000 people. As a direct result of the flood, U.S. Congress passed the Jones-Reid Flood Control Act of 1928, which federalized flood protection along the Mississippi River and its tributaries, with oversight from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. The Army Corps initiated its first surveys for the Bonnet Carre Spillway in 1928. Matt Roe, a spokesperson for the Corps, said the site where the spillway stands today was selected because the river had formed a natural crevasse there in floods that occurred before the levees were built. Construction on the spillway started a year later and was completed in 1931, and highway and railroad crossings were finished in 1936, according to the Army Corps. Now nearly a century old, Roe said the structure still works the same way it did when it was first built. Composed of 350 'bays' that run alongside a 5.7-mile stretch of the Mississippi River about 33 miles upriver from New Orleans, Roe said officials open the spillway when the river's water levels are too high, an effort to relieve pressure on the levee system. Officials generally open the spillway when the river flow rate hits 1.25 million cubic feet per second, which usually corresponds to a river level of around 17 feet on the Carrollton gauge in New Orleans, or around 17 feet above sea level, according to the Army Corps. To open the spillway, crews individually pull timber beams, called needles, from the structure's bays. Each bay contains around 20 needles, and each needle weighs around 600 pounds, according to the Army Corps. Small gaps between the needles allow some water to flow through the structure at all times, Roe said. But when the needles are pulled and an entire bay is opened, fresh water from the river rushes through the spillway and into Lake Pontchartrain, Lake Borgne, and, sometimes, as far as the Mississippi Sound, all bodies of water that contain a mixture of fresh and salt water. The amount of water diverted from the river — and intensity of impacts to wildlife in surrounding waterways — depends largely on how many bays are opened and for how long, Roe said. The Corps is currently engaged in a five-year study looking at the best ways to manage the Mississippi River and, in part, how to better operate the spillway. The last time all 350 bays were opened was in 2011, but the longest duration opening was in 2019, when the structure was partially open for a whopping total of 123 days. The Bonnet Carre Spillway has been opened 15 times in the more than 90 years since it was built, but 2019 is the year wildlife and commercial fishing groups always talk about. After intense rains in the Ohio and Mississippi river valleys, the spillway had to be opened twice that year, killing off oyster reefs and other animals in neighboring waterways. Some reefs reported mortality rates of nearly 100%. John Fallon, director of sustainability and coastal conservation initiatives at Audubon Nature Institute, said there were more than 300 bottlenose dolphin deaths reported in the northern Gulf of Mexico that year. A report released by federal researchers found that many dolphin carcasses exhibited signs of exposure to high concentrations of fresh water, including skin lesions, 'resulting from extreme freshwater discharge from watersheds that drain into the northern Gulf of Mexico.' Brackish bodies of water contain a mixture of salt and fresh water, and Fallon said the organisms that have evolved to live in those waters can handle fairly significant flocculation in salt concentrations. But when large portions of the spillway are opened for a long time, Fallon said, it's a different story. 'It's when we force that much freshwater directed through a single channel like that — it's like a firehose.' Most organisms can't handle that kind of instant, drastic change, and Fallon said those most severely impacted are often animals like oysters, clams and other bottom feeders that can't get up and swim away. The difficulties come down to their very biology, he said. 'It would be like if you're breathing air but we changed the composition of the air,' he said. 'You're going to struggle.' It all comes down to ion balance, according to Cassie Glaspie, an assistant professor in the Department of Oceanography and Coastal Sciences at LSU. Salts are composed of ions, and Glaspie said freshwater marine species have evolved ways to keep more ions in their bodies, while saltwater species have found ways to rid their bodies of excess ions. Some sea birds, for example, excrete excess salt through glands on their bills. Sea turtles can expel salt by crying, Glaspie said, and many saltwater species have extremely salty urine. The marine species that live in Lake Pontchartrain and other brackish bodies of water are really just saltwater species that have evolved to become highly tolerant to fresh water, Glaspie said. That means they're good at handling a lot of variability. But an extensive spillway opening can swamp those abilities. 'These types of management decisions are outside the realm of normal,' she said. It's not just the inundation of fresh water, Glaspie said. The Mississippi River is also significantly cooler and nutrient-dense than the surrounding shallow estuaries, leading to drastic changes the temperature and water quality. The organisms that struggle most are, concerningly, also those that support the rest of the food web. Rangia cuneata, a kind of web clam, are almost always found in tissue samples taken from the bottom of Lake Bourne, Glaspie said, meaning they support and feed much of the other life found there. Those clams are especially vulnerable to drastic changes. That's bad news for all the animals that feed on those clams. Yet, Glaspie remains hopeful. She's seen coastal species in the area nearly entirely wiped out by all kinds of crises: hurricanes, floods, a recent drought. They always find a way to rebound — and fast. 'The communities we have here are very resilient to that, because they have to be to live here,' Glaspie said. 'Much like the people who live here.'
Boston Globe
18-04-2025
- General
- Boston Globe
A look inside Maine's hidden ‘Sistine Chapel' with 70-year-old frescoes
Véronique Plesch, a Colby professor of art, hopes the building inspires more appreciation of frescoes. Advertisement 'I fell in love with the place, because I have studies frescoes all my life,' said Plesch, who is a member of the board of the historical society that cares for the meeting house. She added that the paintings should stay in public places and not be in private institutions. The meeting house was built in 1842 and hosted church services until the 1940s, though there were periods of closure, such as times of war. A decade later, Margaret Day Blake found the building in a state of disuse and the former student at the nearby Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture put out a call for young artists to paint frescoes under the school's supervision in 1951. Advertisement The artists were given creative freedom and told there would be no limits to subject matter, but that Biblical scenes would 'offer rich and suitable' imagery. The interior was covered in such scenes from 1952 to 1956 and the walls remain adorned with frescoes, including one that references Leonardo da Vinci's 'The Last Supper.' Another fresco depicts the binding of Isaac, in which a hooded Abraham prepares to sacrifice his son on God's orders. The Great Flood is depicted as it was by Michelangelo at the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican. Two of the 13 artists — Sigmund Abeles of New York City and Sidney Hurwitz of Newton, Massachusetts — both in their 90s, are still living. Both spoke fondly about their time at the meeting house. 'We would go out there and paint and then take a lunch break in the cemetery behind the building. It was a very idyllic time,' Hurwitz said. 'I very much enjoyed it.' Today, the meeting house, which is open to the public without locks on its doors, serves as a community gathering and performance space. Many of its old features, including box pews made for smaller people of a different time, are still intact. Abeles recalled painting the scene of Jacob wrestling with the angel from the Book of Genesis. 'It's a very, very special place, and it was a unique experience' to work on the frescoes, Abeles said. On a recent Sunday morning, Plesch gave a lecture at the meeting house before a group of members of the Maine Art Education Association as part of the group's spring conference. Long ago, attendants of the building might have been preparing for an Easter service, but on this day it was full of teachers fascinated by the frescoes. Advertisement Suzanne Goulet, an art teacher at a nearby high school, said she was previously aware of the frescoes and confessed she had peaked into the windows of the old building, adding that it's great the paintings are still inspiring art lovers decades later. 'The inspiration is that we bring it back to our students,' Goulet said.
Associated Press
18-04-2025
- General
- Associated Press
A look inside Maine's hidden 'Sistine Chapel' with 70-year-old frescoes
SOLON, Maine (AP) — From the outside, it looks like any other New England church building: a boxy, white structure with a single steeple surrounded by an old stone wall, set against rolling hills and pine forest. Inside, though, the South Solon Meeting House has a secret unknown even to some who drive through the tiny Maine town every day. The interior of the building is covered in 70-year-old fresco murals that encourage some in the state's art community to describe it as 'Maine's Sistine Chapel.' The murals were painted by artists in the 1950s and, while they have long been appreciated by visitors, the recent creation of a website dedicated to them by students at Colby College in Waterville, Maine, has generated new interest in the paintings. Véronique Plesch, a Colby professor of art, hopes the building inspires more appreciation of frescoes. 'I fell in love with the place, because I have studies frescoes all my life,' said Plesch, who is a member of the board of the historical society that cares for the meeting house. She added that the paintings should stay in public places and not be in private institutions. The meeting house was built in 1842 and hosted church services until the 1940s, though there were periods of closure, such as times of war. A decade later, Margaret Day Blake found the building in a state of disuse and the former student at the nearby Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture put out a call for young artists to paint frescoes under the school's supervision in 1951. The artists were given creative freedom and told there would be no limits to subject matter, but that Biblical scenes would 'offer rich and suitable' imagery. The interior was covered in such scenes from 1952 to 1956 and the walls remain adorned with frescoes, including one that references Leonardo da Vinci's 'The Last Supper.' Another fresco depicts the binding of Isaac, in which a hooded Abraham prepares to sacrifice his son on God's orders. The Great Flood is depicted as it was by Michelangelo at the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican. Two of the 13 artists — Sigmund Abeles of New York City and Sidney Hurwitz of Newton, Massachusetts — both in their 90s, are still living. Both spoke fondly about their time at the meeting house. 'We would go out there and paint and then take a lunch break in the cemetery behind the building. It was a very idyllic time,' Hurwitz said. 'I very much enjoyed it.' Today, the meeting house, which is open to the public without locks on its doors, serves as a community gathering and performance space. Many of its old features, including box pews made for smaller people of a different time, are still intact. Abeles recalled painting the scene of Jacob wrestling with the angel from the Book of Genesis. 'It's a very, very special place, and it was a unique experience' to work on the frescoes, Abeles said. On a recent Sunday morning, Plesch gave a lecture at the meeting house before a group of members of the Maine Art Education Association as part of the group's spring conference. Long ago, attendants of the building might have been preparing for an Easter service, but on this day it was full of teachers fascinated by the frescoes. Suzanne Goulet, an art teacher at a nearby high school, said she was previously aware of the frescoes and confessed she had peaked into the windows of the old building, adding that it's great the paintings are still inspiring art lovers decades later. 'The inspiration is that we bring it back to our students,' Goulet said.
Yahoo
14-04-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Researcher from Argentina connects with Johnstown's history, adds to region's culture
JOHNSTOWN, Pa. – Yamila Audisio is an immigrant from Argentina who has developed a deep appreciation for Johnstown's history. She has studied the Great Flood of 1889 that took the lives of more than 2,200 people. Her exploration of the region's past has led her to the stories of generations of immigrants who came before her. Faces of Immigration logo On a professional level, Audisio contributed to the 'Forging a Nation: Johnstown Iron & Steel' exhibit that was put on permanent display at the Frank & Sylvia Pasquerilla Heritage Discovery Center in 2024. It chronicles the history of the local steel industry from the 1700s through modern times. 'It was wonderful for me to do that research because I was able to connect things that were happening in Johnstown during the 19th century and connect them to the Industrial Revolution,' said Audisio, a Westmont resident who is pursuing a master's degree in history from Slippery Rock University. 'And then, of course, the stories about the flood. Those are impactful. 'This is my nerd in me. What I think about Johnstown historically is it's fascinating how the engineering advancements that happened at that time here were things that allowed the country to expand to the west.' Faces of Immigration | Yamila Audisio Research historian Yamila Audisio, Argentina native, shown here at her home in Johnstown on Monday, March 10, 2025. Audisio lived in Alcira Gigena, a small agricultural town where she and many other residents were descendants of Italian immigrants. So much of the local culture seemed familiar to her when she moved to Cambria County in 2017 with her husband, a Windber resident who spent some time in Argentina. 'I was excited about the adventure of moving elsewhere, and meeting new people and being exposed to different environments and cultures,' Audisio said. 'I was excited. But, at the time, I didn't think about all the other parts that involve moving away to a place that is so, so far away.' UPJ Mountain Cat statue The University of Pittsburgh at Johnstown Mountain Cat statue sits in an empty courtyard during spring break March 11, 2020, at the campus in Richland Township. Like many local immigrants, education played a role in Audisio's new life in the United States, as she attended the University of Pittsburgh at Johnstown. 'My experiences were very good at UPJ,' Audisio said. 'UPJ has a faculty and a student community that is very welcoming of immigrants. 'There I was able to meet people from other countries as well, ranging from professors to other students. They were very helpful in navigating the change from one country to the other. I feel like I was sheltered a little bit, and they helped me transition from one place to the other. That was wonderful.' There have been challenges, too, adjusting to the culture. UPJ Book Team Book Team members standing in front of the Jennerstown Mountain Playhouse theater, at left, include (from left) Erin Whyte, Jonathan Van Dermark, Kelsey Chabal, Cameron Carr, Yamila Audisio and Paul Douglas Newman. But she has developed a 'network of support' by being involved in numerous organizations, including The Learning Lamp, Cambria County Library System, the Center for Metal Arts and the former Johnstown Area Heritage Association, now known as Heritage Johnstown. She also has a 'diverse group' of international friends who help each other handle the day-to-day tasks often faced by immigrants. 'Having friends that went through the same process makes a huge difference,' Audisio said. 'I have to say, it was hard to find that group of people. It took many years to connect and be included in these groups. 'Then there is a group of Hispanic people that are my friends. I created a group during the pandemic. Most of them are moms who are here because either their husbands are working here at a school or they're moving around. Some of them don't even speak English, so I think it's very helpful to have people who do speak English and who went through the whole thing.'
Chicago Tribune
14-04-2025
- General
- Chicago Tribune
Michael Peregrine: The Great Chicago Flood's lasting lessons, 33 years later
Ever had one of those mornings when you wake up to a flooded basement? When an overnight storm knocked out your power and your sump pump? When the plumber's not answering his phone and you have an early meeting at the office? Well, 33 years ago this week, Chicago experienced one of those days, multiplied by a metropolis, when it woke up on the morning of April 13, 1992, to find that the Loop's proverbial basement had flooded. The central business district was brought to its (very wet) knees for an expensive three-day spell. The story of how the Loop flooded, why it flooded and how it recovered is one for the ages, a real 'Chicago tale' of history, chaos, hard work and creativity — and the inevitable blame game. Like many modern calamities, the roots of the Great Flood were firmly planted in history. Far deep under the Loop's streets rests the Chicago freight tunnel system, 60 miles of now-obsolete tubes tracking the street grid, completed in 1914. The tunnels served to facilitate movement of commodities, merchandise and utilities between Loop buildings while avoiding street-level congestion. They were abandoned in 1959 when outpaced by technology. The actual flood was precipitated by earlier efforts of contractors to install new pilings in several downtown bridges, including one at Kinzie Street. There, a fateful decision was made to move the new pilings away from their intended spot, to avoid damaging the bridge tender's house. The redirected pilings displaced the existing clay soil, which in turn breached the tunnel wall, and the flood was on. Confusion, inconvenience and lack of urgency cascaded into lengthy delays in reporting the breach to authorities. Fast-forward to Monday, April 13. Early-arriving downtown office workers confronted basements filled with rapidly rising waters. The Merchandise Mart boiler room was 30 feet under water. Fish were found in stairwells. The Chicago Pedway and underground shops were also flooded and 911 calls from office buildings began to roll in. Utilities and other building services began to fail. Ultimately, more than 250 million gallons of water filled the underground spaces. Reporter Larry Langford, on the scene at the Kinzie Street Bridge, described the site as 'the biggest bathtub drain in the world.' Loop workers were sent home and stayed home for several days. Initial corrective ideas were dismissed as impractical or risky or both. Mayor Richard M. Daley reached out to veteran contractor John Kenny Jr. to direct the repair work. Kenny moved quickly to take charge, with City Hall clearing political obstacles. As the Tribune reported at the time, Kenny quickly focused on a plan that would 'start throwing stuff down there,' i.e., create a form of blanket around the leak and then seal it. Over a one-week period, a concrete solution was applied to fill the hole until the leak stopped. Subsequent repair served to reinforce the tunnel seals and to add permanent bulkheads. The total cost of repairs came to almost $2 billion (more than $4.5 billion in today's dollars), but it worked. Then came finger-pointing time. Blame would eventually be spread far and wide, but absolute accountability proved complex and elusive. While it wasn't quite the equivalent of the film 'Tremors,' the Great Chicago Flood does share some features with famous subterranean disaster movie. There's the predictable catalyst: the confusion between city inspectors and contractors in reporting the leak. Then there's the looming emergency: commuters calmly walking to their Loop offices, while under the sidewalks lurked rapidly rising river waters. Then there's the hero, Kenny, the so-called 'Flood Stud' who guided the complex repair efforts to success. And then there's the moral of the story — or in this case, a couple of morals. First is that attributing blame for an expensive catastrophe is rarely a productive and reliable exercise. The better course of action is to focus on prevention and progress. Second is that Chicago has always been a city of innovation. The tunnel system was at its creation, and remained for years in retooled form, a creative avenue of commerce. Third is that things break — whether it's aging infrastructure, critical machinery or complex equipment. When they're not monitored and maintained, there'll be problems. Fourth is that government and private industry can and should work together effectively, and when they do, both benefit from increased consumer trust. Fifth is that Chicago is preternaturally resilient. Whatever vagaries fate seems to dish out, the city seems able to handle them. In 1992, and to this day, Chicago remains as Carl Sandburg envisioned it more than 110 years ago: the 'City of the Big Shoulders … a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities; … Bareheaded, Shoveling, Wrecking, Planning, Building, breaking, rebuilding.' That's a civic spirit no flood can wash away.
