When Kenny Hudnall looked out the window of his mother’s minivan on Monday, he could see the destruction wrought by the floodwaters of the Guadalupe River on July 4: fat cypress trees snapped like twigs, kayaks dangling from debris piles 30 feet off the ground.
Volunteers were still working to clear the mess, many wielding chain saws. But Mr. Hudnall, a 21-year-old college student, could not join them. He was partially paralyzed in a car crash at age 5 and needs a wheelchair to move and a ventilator to breathe.
Still, he had a part to play in the rebirth of Texas Hill Country after the deadly floods of July 4 that left at least 132 dead and nearly 100 still missing. Mr. Hudnall was traveling to Camp CAMP (Children’s Association for Maximum Potential), which was improbably welcoming new campers, many with physical and cognitive challenges too serious for other camps, little more than a week after the deadly deluge.
“Seeing those volunteers on the road was very similar to the vibe at camp,” Mr. Hudnall said. “It’s bringing normalcy to a person who doesn’t always feel normal.”
The reopening of a summer camp on Monday heralded the green shoots already sprouting in the flood’s wake, and it felt particularly poignant, and perhaps a little scary. One of the most indelible horrors of the flood was Camp Mystic, 30 miles upriver, where more than two dozen campers, counselors and other employees lost their lives.
Camp CAMP was not in session the week of July 4. Its cabins and other buildings sit on a hill 80 feet above the river anyway, safely above the flood’s high-water mark, said Brandon Briery, the chief operations officer. The camp’s undeveloped stretch of riverfront property was used by campers only sporadically for fishing, canoeing and bonfires.
“For years we had talked about building here, and I always said no,” Ken Kaiser, the facilities director, said this week as he stood on the riverbank. “Because it always floods.”
Still, flood detritus did render the waterfront impassable. The heart of camp was unscathed, but leaders worried about exposing vulnerable campers to scenes of destruction, including search teams from Texas A&M University on the property looking for human remains.
“We didn’t want them to see their home as a disaster area,” Mr. Briery said.
Then unexpected help arrived. Cord Shiflet, an Austin real estate agent who started helping with disaster relief when Hurricane Harvey hit Houston in 2017, had driven to the Hill Country looking for places to pitch in. Someone directed him to Camp CAMP. He discovered the destroyed waterfront, and the camp’s mission, helping children too disabled to attend other camps.
At 9:28 p.m. on Tuesday, July 8, Mr. Shiflet sent a plea to his tens of thousands of Facebook followers.
“I need MONEY, MANPOWER, and MACHINES,” he wrote. “We do NOT need people in athletic shorts showing up with a rake. We need the biggest, baddest muscle we can find to work our tails off.”
On Wednesday morning, 250 people arrived at Camp CAMP. By Friday, the number of volunteers had doubled. They brought front-end loaders, excavators, dump trucks and dozens of chain saws. They hacked the tangles of debris to pieces and hauled it all away. By 5 p.m. on Saturday, the waterfront was a flat expanse of fresh mud.
“I am overwhelmed,” Mr. Kaiser said as he surveyed the scene. “We thought this would take a year. They did it in four days.”
Mr. Briery sent word to campers’ parents that Camp CAMP would reopen at noon on Monday, just as he had planned before the flood.
“My first reaction was: ‘Really? Is it going to be safe?’” said Gigi Hudnall, Kenny’s mother. “It was scary that they were going to open so fast.”
Kenny was intent: He wanted to go.
“It does look like a trash dump compared to the beautiful forest we’re used to,” he said. “But it’s rare for me to get this kind of connection with people who are not members of my family, or doctors or nurses.”
Another camper, Eli Hemerly, usually prefers not to go outside. Born 17 weeks premature, he is now 18 years old with the cognitive abilities of a first grader, said his mother, Lucy Hemerly. He favors playing inside with his Mighty Morphin Power Rangers action figures and watching episodes of “Paw Patrol.”
“He’s a homebody,” said Ms. Hemerly, 53.
But Eli loves Camp CAMP. So on Sunday his mother ignored the weather forecast, which called for rain, and drove from their home in San Antonio to the camp, where check-in was scheduled to begin at 12 p.m.
A few minutes before noon, the predicted storm arrived. The Texas Department of Public Safety ordered the camp to remain closed. Ms. Hemerly was half a mile away when she told Eli the news.
“I’m disappointed,” Eli said, as his mother later remembered.
“I was shocked,” Ms. Hemerly said. “He never wants to go anywhere.”
The delay proved short. Twenty-four hours later, on Tuesday, the camp reopened, and campers started to return. Ms. Hemerly arrived at noon sharp so she could explain to counselors the complicated necessities of her son’s care, which included instructions to navigate the gastric port in his stomach for feeding, the different diapers he wears, and his particular sleep postures.
“The counselors here have always been wonderful at making sure he’s comfortable,” said Ms. Hemerly, who has taken Eli to Camp CAMP one week a summer for the last 10 year.
The waterfront section remained closed on Tuesday, but all other activities were ready. The camp has three pools, including two with flat beaches so campers in wheelchairs can enter easily. The archery bows and paintball guns have modified triggers, so all the campers can fire them.
“Here, every camper gets to participate in every activity,” Mr. Briery said. “For many of them, camp is the one place they belong.”
Mr. Hudnall was most excited to ride a horse. The activity is logistically complex. Two counselors lift him onto a horse’s back. Once the horse is in motion, one counselor walks behind. Two more stand on either side. A fourth carries his ventilator.
“The way that people grow in relationships is doing things together,” said Mr. Hudnall, who has attended Camp CAMP for 10 years. “For people in my predicament, that is the hardest thing to find. So here, having someone who is guaranteed to be around you at all times, that helps a lot.”
Tuesday afternoon brought another severe thunderstorm, and another pause in camp operations. Then the sky cleared, and camper check-ins continued. By 3:15 p.m., the radio on Mr. Briery’s belt squealed with a more mundane call.
“Please send people to the stable,” a young woman urged. “We need to get ready for horseback activities.”
Christopher Maag is a reporter covering the New York City region for The Times.
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Reopens in the Texas Hill Country appeared first on New York Times.
