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A couple of weeks ago, ABC News profiled a preacher who claimed the world would end on June 12.

Last week, I was wondering if he was right.

In the days leading to June 12, the Dow Jones Industrial Average plunged 398 points, oil flirted with $140 a barrel, gasoline continued its push to $4 a gallon, a key bridge linking Winona to western Wisconsin was closed, tomatoes were pulled from shelves over a salmonella scare, and continuing stories about bee-hive collapse, the emerald ash borer and VHS fish virus continued to lurk in the background.

And, of course, the floods. Just three days before the world was supposed to end, Lake Delton met its demise. Dell Creek, the body of water that was dammed to create Lake Delton, violently cut a new channel, and the lake drained away within hours. It was the top story on the CBS Evening News.

For me, Lake Delton carries personal significance. When our family moved from North Carolina to Wisconsin in 1976, our first house was a rental across Canyon Road from Lake Delton. It was Lake Delton where I walked on water for the first time (lakes didn’t freeze in North Carolina) and where I witnessed ice fishing for the first time (you mean they drill holes and catch fish right through the ice?). Years later, I discovered the boat landing on the southwest end was a nice spot to catch perch. Over the years, the lakeshore landscape was transformed from modest cottages to mini-mansions that screamed either extreme affluence or extreme debt. I suspect the latter exceeded the former. Those whose homes were washed down the river said they “lost everything.” Makes me wonder how many other lakeshore properties in Wisconsin are built on foundations of financial sand.

Three days later, the world’s official last day, more flooded images of familiar communities flashed across the television screen. There was Baraboo (graduated from high school there), Wyocena (went fishing there last month), Ontario (starting gate for many canoe trips), La Valle (ate breakfast there a few times), Reedsburg (followed Tomah wrestling and baseball teams there within the past year) and Rock Springs (drove through there just three weeks ago). Watching those scenes was personal and heartbreaking.

But June 12 came and went, and the world was still here, albeit with way too much water. Things actually looked brighter on Friday the 13th. The sun came out. At our home in Tomah, the water that we feared would ooze from the ground into our carpeted basement stayed submerged. The Minnesota Department of Transportation even announced that the Highway 43 bridge would be reopened for car traffic only. The day after that, my parents wound their way through the maze of Sauk County road closures to pay a visit.

The world didn’t end June 12, but the events of last week were a humbling reminder of mankind’s helplessness against the relentless forces of water. We can divert it, we can dam it, we can throw sandbags against it, but ultimately, water will go where water will go, and there’s not much we can do to stop it. The best we can do is follow evacuation orders and help each other with the cleanup.

Fortunately, the world was still here on June 13, and it was brighter than it was the day before. I’m glad the preacher was wrong.

Steve Rundio is the Perspective Page Editor of Tomah Newspapers.