Where the tide comes into town
August 1, 2017 a thunder storm dumped more than five inches of rain across Miami-Dade County. On South Beach, where I worked at the time, the museum lobby flooded. The National Weather Service had issued a flood warning until 5:45p.m., which is exactly when I left the building. Areas across the county flooded, in a region where the water table averages 2–4 feet below ground. That day, I waded to my car (several blocks away) in water up to my knees. I then slowly drove up Alton Rd. with water sloshing around my feet inside the car, passing a kayaker as I navigated my way to the Venetian Causeway, the nearest route off the beach to escape the flood.
Where the tide comes into town imagines a city swamped, looking at some of its quieter places, the less prominent spots, settings that probably don’t come to mind when thinking of somewhere as high profile as Miami can position itself in the public imagination. The places where locals wade away from work and kayak home.
Where the tide comes into town imagines a city swamped, looking at some of its quieter places, the less prominent spots, settings that probably don’t come to mind when thinking of somewhere as high profile as Miami can position itself in the public imagination. The places where locals wade away from work and kayak home.
