On July 14 this past summer, I pulled up to the Kerrville Kroc Corps Community Center, dodging puddles and sinkholes from a recent thunderstorm in a town where the last thing needed was more rain. I was there as a volunteer to help people impacted by the worst flooding central Texas had seen since record-keeping began.

Ten days prior, in the early hours of July 4, heavy thunderstorms in Kerr County led the Guadalupe River to rise 26 feet in less than 45 minutes. At least 135 people were killed, with the most deaths located in Kerr County. And the ramifications of the disaster continue to unfold: the head of FEMA, David Richardson, recently resigned, and lawsuits continue to roll in.

After walking inside the community center with my friend and her sister, we signed in as part of the disaster response volunteer group that focused on receiving and sorting donations, managing intake forms, shopping for specific needs and loading bundled donations into vehicles. As cogs in the wheel of efficiency that seems to only develop during times like this, we were given a quick tour of the community center before we were assigned specific roles. 

Three hours of packing donations into the vehicles of individuals and families later, I learned a couple of things. First, donation bundles are consistently in need of sheets and shoes. Second, we are far less prepared for disaster than we should be—and will need to be—in the future.

Born and raised in San Antonio and Hunt, Texas, I grew up playing in the Guadalupe River. To escape the summer heat, I spent countless hours exploring the water’s unique limestone banks and bald cypress trees, scouting for spots to set up a folding chair or rope swing. To me, the river was an idyllic landscape for exploration. 

But the Guadalupe River is also unpredictable and powerful. The area’s rocky, clay-like soil absorbs water poorly. As a result, Kerr County and the surrounding areas are prone to flash floods. My mother and grandmother can recount instances of flash flooding that would prevent them from traveling to school or the store—isolating them from their community until water levels inevitably receded. Texas Monthly cites five occurrences in the past century where flash floods washed away entire neighborhoods. 

There’s a problem here. It’s getting worse. 

Climate change exacerbated the heavy rainfall that fell during the mid-summer holiday. In other words, the likelihood of this repeating, in the Texas Hill Country or other inland areas across the U.S., is high and rising. The U.N.’s Panel on Climate Change predicts that the atmosphere will be able to hold about 7% more moisture per 1°C of global warming. This will lead to an intensification of heavy precipitation, spurring an increase in both the frequency and severity of flash floods. 

Yet climate-downplaying narratives are rampant. In one article, NBC news correspondent and Kerrville native Morgan Chesky reflects on the flooding, saying that it was “unlike anything we have ever seen before, and hopefully, nothing we ever see again.” This sentiment is common after extreme events, but it reflects a broader pattern of minimizing climate trends by framing disasters as one-offs rather than part of a larger issue. 

According to Texas climatologist John Nielsen-Gammon, the intensity of extreme rainfall in Texas has increased by 15% over the past 40 years. This trend is reflected in other states and across the world. 

In response to the July 4 disaster, nine bills were proposed to the Texas Senate and House representatives. Two bills relate to summer camp safety; one establishes locations for flood warning sirens; three propose improvements to the state’s emergency response techniques; and three increase funding for disaster relief initiatives. 

Although better than nothing, there are numerous issues with these pieces of legislation. First, these bills focus almost exclusively on regulations and guidance for summer camps, when nearly one third of July 4 casualties were locals, people in vacation rentals, and those in holiday weekend campsites. Senate Bill 1, for example, would require all campground operators to put ladders in cabins for rooftop access during instances of flooding. What about the people without a roof to climb up to? And what if the roof isn’t high enough?  

Second, these efforts are over-reliant on evacuation, given the town’s two-lane highway that is easily congested and could endanger residents attempting to drive to safety.

Third, these bills are strictly reactive, when they should be proactive. As greenhouse gas emissions continue to amplify heavy precipitation in the atmosphere, the U.S. government’s fifth National Climate Assessment concludes that “the number of days with extreme precipitation will continue to increase,” leading to more flood related hazards. 

Flooding is no longer a historical rarity for Kerr County, nor is it unique to central Texas. Soon, communities unaccustomed to flooding across the U.S. will experience similar weather phenomena, regardless of how many warning signals we install. We must devote our energy to climate adaptation through urban planning and policy changes. 

According to Irwin Redlener, the former senior advisor for the National Center for Disaster Preparedness at the Columbia Climate School, we should not treat disaster response and climate adaptation as an either/or choice. Instead, Redlener suggests, “We need to be able to walk and chew gum at the same time.” Climate experts stress the importance of proactive planning, better risk communication, and policies that account for vulnerable populations.

Texas cannot afford to focus solely on short-term fixes, such as emergency ladders and highway evacuations, while ignoring the long-term drivers of disaster risk, from poor land-use planning to unchecked greenhouse gas emissions.

Cities in Minnesota, Iowa and Virginia demonstrate that this is possible. Following major floods, cities in these states have devised strategies to minimize the effects of future flooding through infrastructure such as a flood-wall with removable panels, removing a flood-prone wastewater facility and raising roads.

Is it good to vote for a legislature that can lessen the potentially catastrophic effects of disasters like this one? Yes. Is it good to volunteer at local community or relief centers? Absolutely. Is this enough to protect humans and ecosystems across the country from likely increases in weather disasters? No. 

As I pulled away from the community center that evening in mid-July, driving across the bridge that would lead me back to San Antonio, I noticed the flood’s water marks in the trees, high above me and my car. Unless we act now, we’ll again find ourselves underwater—not just in Kerr County, but in flood-prone areas across the nation.

Views and opinions expressed here are those of the authors, and do not necessarily reflect the official position of the Columbia Climate School, Earth Institute or Columbia University.