We headed to Loyd Park for the long July Fourth weekend, hoping for a few days of rest and renewal. Because our home fridge was on the fritz, we packed up most of its contents to keep in our Airstream fridge until the home unit could be repaired. Yet even as we tried to settle into our typical holiday routines, the mood was subdued.

Maybe it was the political climate — so much noise, so much division. The usual displays of patriotism felt hollow. We talked about feeling disillusion and disconnected. It’s hard to celebrate freedom when so many feel unheard, unseen, or unsafe. It’s hard to celebrate democracy when so much of our political process is broken.

Then came the heartbreaking news from the Hill Country.

Flash floods had torn through Kerr County. The Guadalupe River rose 28 feet in less than an hour, sweeping away homes and RVs, campgrounds, and lives. A place where rustic charm and natural beauty have long drawn campers, retirees, and tourists had become a site of devastation.

We weren’t in the path of the disaster, but we felt its weight. The mood at our campsite shifted. We watched the news reports with helicopters scanning the zone and rescue teams searching for the missing. The death toll continued to climb throughout the weekend. Suddenly, Independence Day didn’t matter.

The Hill Country has always been a place of contrasts. Its natural beauty masks a dangerous truth: its thin soil, steep terrain, and exposed bedrock make it especially vulnerable to flash floods. The Guadalupe River rose 29 feet in 1987, killing 10 teenagers near Comfort. In 2015, the Blanco River rose nearly 30 feet in Wimberly, claiming 13 lives.

This weekend was a brutal reminder of nature’s power.

What struck us most was how quickly people responded. Texans mobilized — bringing boats, drones, helping hands, and hope. It wasn’t loud or performative. It was quiet, determined, and deeply human. In a weekend meant to celebrate independence, we were reminded of our interdependence.

We may have been at Loyd Park, but our hearts were with those in the flood zone. This Fourth of July didn’t feel patriotic in the traditional sense. But that’s OK. Patriotism isn’t always about flags or fireworks. Sometimes it’s about showing up for each other when it matters most.