Millions of Americans are gambling with nature—and losing—by continuing to live and build in flood-prone areas, even as extreme weather, driven by climate change, makes catastrophic flooding more frequent and more destructive.
In towns like Langhorne, Pennsylvania, stories like Steve Rodriguez’s are becoming alarmingly common. Nestled near a creek that regularly spills over its banks, Rodriguez’s home has flooded so many times that he invested in raising it 10 feet above ground level just to stay dry. Some of his neighbors went even further, elevating their homes 20 feet or more in a desperate attempt to outpace the rising waters.
“It’s just what you have to do,” Rodriguez said. “They’ve overbuilt the area, and now you get all this runoff from malls, roads, and parking lots. The water has nowhere else to go.”
He’s not wrong. An estimated 40 million Americans now live in floodplains—low-lying areas that are naturally susceptible to flooding. But urban sprawl, overdevelopment, and decades of ignoring climate warnings have only made matters worse. As rainfall intensifies due to climate change, these areas are becoming increasingly dangerous.
Despite the well-known risks, the U.S. continues to build and rebuild in these vulnerable zones. According to Maya van Rossum, leader of the Delaware Riverkeeper Network, this is a mistake we keep making at a massive scale.
“The way we’ve developed in floodplains is a huge problem,” van Rossum warned. “When there’s a catastrophic event, you’ll see massive devastation. Then comes the rebuilding. And then it happens again. We’re stuck in a cycle that’s not fair to anyone.”
Federal and local governments have long attempted to address the issue through voluntary buyouts, using funds to purchase homes and remove them from danger zones. Over the last 25 years, at least 14,700 homes have been purchased for flood-related reasons through such programs. In Rodriguez’s neighborhood, many homeowners accepted these buyouts and moved on. But Rodriguez, who was offered one back in 1999, declined.
“It just didn’t make financial sense at the time,” he admitted. “And now, after twelve floods since then, I feel like I’m stuck.”
For those who don’t accept buyouts, the government sometimes offers assistance to elevate homes above flood levels. But critics say this is merely a band-aid on a gaping wound.
“Elevating homes gives the illusion of safety,” van Rossum said. “But it doesn’t stop the flooding—it just changes where the water goes. When one house is raised, it can divert floodwater toward someone else’s property.”
It’s a grim cycle. Flood, rebuild, flood again. And the price tag is steep, not only in terms of human loss and emotional trauma but in billions of taxpayer dollars spent on insurance claims, emergency response, and rebuilding efforts.
For many, however, the decision to stay isn’t just about money—it’s deeply emotional. Rodriguez says his home is more than just four walls and a roof. It’s his past, his memories, and a part of who he is.
“You can’t just walk away from all that,” he said. “Yes, I know it floods. Yes, I know, maybe I shouldn’t be here. But where would I go? And what would I get for it?”
It’s a dilemma faced by thousands across the country—from river towns in the Midwest to coastal communities battered by hurricanes. The Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) and local governments are trying to balance compassion with practicality, offering funds, options, and warnings. But often, the root of the problem lies deeper, in how we’ve allowed development in places where it never should have happened in the first place.
Historically, the U.S. has taken a reactive approach to flood management. Build first. Manage risk later. But experts like van Rossum argue that it’s time for a serious cultural and policy shift.
“We need to stop listening to sad stories only after tragedy strikes and start implementing real, long-term solutions,” she said. “We know these areas flood. We know it’s going to keep happening. But still, we allow more development. That’s the real disservice—not the flood, but the failure to learn from it.”
Part of the problem is that flood maps used to determine insurance rates and zoning laws are often outdated or overly conservative. This leaves some homeowners unaware they’re even at risk until it’s too late. Meanwhile, developers continue to cash in on cheap land that turns into a liability down the line.
Van Rossum and other environmental advocates suggest a proactive strategy focused on retreat and restoration. This means buying out flood-prone homes before disaster strikes, halting new construction in floodplains, and allowing rivers and wetlands to return to their natural courses, giving the water somewhere to go that isn’t someone’s living room.
“Nature has a flood management system—it’s called a floodplain,” she said. “We just need to stop trying to outbuild it.”
As for Rodriguez, he’s still hanging on—house raised, heart heavy, and eyes on the weather forecast every time it rains.
“Maybe it was a mistake not taking the buyout,” he said. “But back then, it felt like the right call. Now, I don’t know. I just know I can’t start over.”
America’s growing flood crisis is more than just a natural disaster—it’s a man-made tragedy unfolding in slow motion. The science is clear. The solutions exist. But unless local and national leaders have the courage to confront development norms and climate reality, millions will remain at risk, rebuilding in the flood zone until the water comes again.
Because the truth is: we’re not just building homes in floodplains—we’re building futures on sinking ground.
