I hired a licensed dam removal contractor named Stellan Brink. He had removed 14 dams in the state over his career. When he read my flood risk memos, he took his reading glasses off, set them on my kitchen table, and refused to quote me a price immediately.
“Mr. Thibault,” Stellan said, looking me in the eye. “With respect, sir, I would like to go on record with you that in my professional opinion, your dam should not be coming down in spring.”
“I know, Stellan. I am still going to do the job.”
He signed a sworn affidavit at my table that afternoon, describing the structure as sound and the court order as legally unfounded in engineering practice. He joined my formal warning to the state. We were building a paper trail made of iron.
As a final measure, I wrote a three-page handwritten letter to Heather Lynn. Not as an engineer, but as a neighbor. I laid out in plain English what the removal would cause. I offered to withdraw my compliance if she dropped her petition.
I mailed it with delivery confirmation. She posted a photo of my letter on her online blog with a 1,500-word essay ridiculing me.
On Wednesday, May 14th, in the 332nd year of my family’s tenure on the Branch River, Stellan’s crew began the removal.
They worked with absolute discipline. At my strict direction, they removed the structure in careful stages, salvaging every original 1793 stone. Each stone was numbered with weatherproof paint, photographed, and carefully stacked on higher ground above the old mill.
By day seven, the Branch River ran through its original channel for the first time in 232 years. The 11-million-gallon reservoir was gone. The dock where my late wife and I used to sit was standing four feet in the air above dried black mud.
Heather Lynn held a celebration at the HOA clubhouse that Friday evening.
She called it a “River Liberation Ceremony.” The invitation featured a cartoon beaver wearing a crown. Forty-three residents attended. Her husband passed out wine. She read a speech about restoring public waters, completely ignoring the fact that the snowpack on the mountain above us was currently melting at the fastest rate in 11 years.
