On day eleven, the Governor of Vermont called my cell phone. He had seen the satellite damage assessments.
“Rowan,” the Governor asked. “Can this dam be rebuilt, and can you lead the project?”
“Yes to both questions, sir,” I replied.
Ten days later, the town held a public meeting. Over two hundred people attended, representing every household in the valley.
The HOA president, Heather Lynn, was not there. She had resigned in disgrace four days earlier and was quietly packing to move out of state. Her husband was facing a felony fraud charge.
The judge who had ordered the dam’s removal, Judge Crow, attended the meeting. She stood up in the third row, looked at me in front of the entire town, and publicly apologized. She stated on the record that she had failed to give proper weight to my professional testimony, and announced her permanent recusal from any future matters involving our valley.
I stepped up to the microphone.
I proposed rebuilding the dam. Not as my private property, but as a publicly managed flood control structure. I told the room that FEMA grant money would cover the bulk of it, and that my firm would lead the construction at pure cost, with zero profit margin.
I told them we would use the original 1793 stones my contractor had meticulously saved.
The new HOA board president called for a vote. Two hundred and seven hands went up in favor.
The rebuild took fourteen months. FEMA funded $4.2 million. The HOA, under new leadership, contributed $200,000 as an apology. The new dam stands eleven feet taller than the original, faced with the beautiful 18th-century cut stone my ancestors laid by hand. It is certified to withstand a 150-year flood event.
We donated the old mill building to the community association under a 99-year lease to serve as a public history museum.
I kept my 180 acres. I kept my lake.
