Over the following 90 days, I did exactly what engineers do when they cannot win a legal argument but refuse to panic. I documented everything.
I filed formal written warnings of the anticipated downstream flood with every entity that had jurisdictional interest in the valley. I sent certified letters with return receipts to the State Agency of Natural Resources, the County Emergency Management Office, the Town Select Board, FEMA’s regional office, and the Cascade Meadows Estates HOA board itself.
Each letter included my 283-page environmental assessment, my daughter’s hydrological models, and a plain-language summary stating that the court-ordered removal of the dam would flood the subdivision.
I received 17 form letters acknowledging receipt. The Deputy Commissioner of Natural Resources, a former colleague of mine, wrote me a personal note back: “Rowan, I have flagged the file internally. When this breaks, we will move fast. Take care of your family.”
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.
