The Texas Hill Country floods, ten months on.

This week I've found myself holding my girls a little tighter.

Like so many of you, I've watched in heartbreak as images and stories have poured out of the Texas Hill Country — families displaced, homes swept away, summer camps along the Guadalupe gone. It's been devastating, disorienting, and heavy on the heart. But in the middle of all of it, something else has come into view: the unshakable spirit of the people who call this place home.

The response from Texans has been overwhelming — in the best way. Raw, real, deeply moving. People showing up for each other without hesitation. Folks opening their homes, delivering supplies by boat or on foot, doing whatever it took to help. It reminded me of the Texas I was raised in — a place where kindness is automatic, where generosity isn't a show but a way of life.

I've always known this version of Texas. The one where strangers stop to help with a flat tire, where you're invited in for supper even if you weren't expected, where "neighbor" and "family" often mean the same thing. This week, the rest of the world caught a glimpse of that Texas too.

The land I was standing on in November 2021 — a quiet stretch beside the Guadalupe — was washed away when the river crested at 37.52 feet on July 4.

I know a lot of people have opinions about Texas and Texans, and I don't expect a flood — even one as life-altering as this — to change anyone's mind. But if there's one thing I hope people take away from this week, it's the reminder that this state is full of people who love hard, act fast, and show up when it counts.

As I've wiped away tears and rocked my babies to sleep, I've also felt a swell of pride. Because this is the Texas I know.

Where the recovery stands, ten months later.

It's now May 2026. I'm writing this section from the studio, in a Hill Country spring that, against all odds, came in green. Here's the honest update:

• Over $150 million has been raised through the Community Foundation of the Texas Hill Country's Kerr County Flood Relief Fund — making it one of the largest community-led disaster funds in Texas history.
• Nearly $65 million has already been distributed in grants to over 100 nonprofits, 500-plus small businesses, and more than a thousand families directly impacted.
• The recovery has been organized under the Rebuild Kerr Initiative, with current priorities split across housing (repair, rebuild, rehouse), mental health (trauma-informed counseling for children, first responders, and displaced families), and public green space along the river — a recent $14M grant is funding river-corridor restoration.

The headlines moved on a long time ago. The work absolutely hasn't.

If you're able to give — here's where to send it.

Both of these are vetted, on the ground, and where the bulk of recovery dollars are currently flowing. Every dollar matters. Five matters. Five hundred matters.

Other ways to show up (if money's tight).

• If you're booking a Hill Country wedding, hire the local florists, caterers, planners, and venue staff out there. The hospitality economy was hit hard and is the slowest piece to come back.
• If you're already in Central Texas, the foundation maintains a current list of in-kind needs — building materials, professional skills, time. Check the Foundation site for the latest.
• If you have a platform, even a small one, share the donate links. Recovery fatigue is real. Keeping the work visible is itself a form of help.
• If you knew someone affected, check in again. Ten months is the part where the casseroles have stopped and the grief is still very much present.

So tonight — whether you're reading this in July 2025 when I first wrote it, or in May 2026 when I'm updating it, or some year from now when the search brought you here — if you're lucky enough to be safe and dry, hug your babies close. And remember this version of Texas: the one built on grit, heart, and showing up without being asked.

With love and gratitude, — Caity Colvard · Photographer. Texan. Mama.