By Cliff Radel
The Cincinnati Enquirer

When the rains come and the waters rise, folks living on a stretch of Crosby Township's River Road just sit tight. And count their blessings.

They know the Great Miami wants to flood. But it always falls.

Until Monday.

Dave Lutz (front) and Willie Pope cruise the Green Acres driving range in a fan boat. (Michael E. Keating photo)

"The river usually just comes down my driveway and stops," said Dwayne Davidson. "But this time, it just kept coming."

Davidson took his wife and two children and all but one of their dogs to higher ground. He intended to stay behind with his collie, Icky. But a fireman in rowboat ordered him to abandon the house he has lived in for five years.

"Those guys are doing a heck of a job in this flood," Davidson said as he and his family dried out in the Crosby Township Senior/Community Center. "I didn't want to cause them any trouble.

"So, I left. But, we'll be back."

That's the thing about people living close to a river. Their houses can be along the Great Miami in western Hamilton County. Or on the north shore of the Ohio in Cincinnati's flood-prone east-side neighborhood of California.

Regardless of the name on the map, the people aim to stay put.

To them, the only place they can find a special brand of closeness and friendship is the spot by the river they call home.

"Our street is like a big family living in separate houses," Davidson said. "We all know that when the river goes down, everyone's going to help clean up."

In addition to his collie, Davidson left behind the '68 Mustang he has been renovating with his son, Michael. They want to paint it a deep blue. Right now it's primer gray. Davidson hopes the flood won't turn it a muddy brown.

"I couldn't haul out the Mustang," he said. "The river rose too fast. But I got my family out. We're all safe. That's all that matters."

Staying put to wait for a flood, or going back home to clean up the raging waters' aftermath, has nothing to do with trying to outsmart the river or the rain.

"You're dealing with mother nature and God," said Ed Walston, Davidson's neighbor. "Nothing's smarter or more powerful."

Cindy Fischer lives and works in California. She's spent 31 of her 42 years in the old Cincinnati riverside neighborhood, including the last three as the owner of the California Carry Out. The deli's red brick walls have withstood a score of floods since they were built in 1878.

"In this little town," Fischer said, "we know our kids can walk down the streets of an evening and feel safe."

She also knows that the rain-swollen Ohio looms across the street from her riverfront home. While the river laps at her neighbors' backyards, basement apartment dwellers make plans to flee the advancing flood waters.

"They'll be back," Fischer predicted. "People living up on the hills may think we're crazy for living down here. But we live in a place that they've forgotten about, a place where people care for each other."

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E-mail cradel@enquirer.com