FARGO -- The last time they fought the Red River, John and Deb Elsbernd lost.

Flood waters walloped their neighborhood in the spring of '97, forcing them to flee for six months. It took them three years to rebuild their house.

But no flood -- not then, not now -- is going to wash away their spirit.

"We fought to stay," John Elsbernd said, standing in the middle of Southwood Drive, a cul de sac where many of the houses are bordered once again by a wall of sandbags. "We're Midwesterners. That's what this is all about."

The same sentiment -- dread mixed with quiet resolve -- is rippling throughout the Red River Valley this week as the river keeps rising.

The Elsbernd home is one of several hundred city houses along the Red River that Fargo officials say are vulnerable to flooding this spring -- and many springs -- when the Red River overflows. A map of the city shows large pockets of houses that aren't protected by permanent flood walls.

"In Fargo, the most beautiful homes are on the river," said Margo McCulley, who lives with her husband, Jim, a few blocks from the Southwood neighborhood. They don't want to move either, but they say it's inevitable. They've been told by city officials that they need to build a permanent levee 15 feet from the bank's edge. The 15-feet mark would reach into their dining room.

Many homeowners living in river cities stretching 200 miles along the North Dakota-Minnesota border from Wahpeton, N.D., to Canada, have become accustomed to, even emboldened by, the challenges of fighting off the river.

On Tuesday, an army of volunteers fanned out in the Southwood neighborhood -- one of the hardest hit areas of the city in years past. They formed human chains and tossed sandbags to each other, side by side with the residents. As ice chunks and tree branches drifted along the Red River, a Coast Guard helicopter flew overhead.

Here we go again

Standing in his garage, John Elsbernd pointed to the cooler full of pop and the Styrofoam cups stacked next to a coffee pot. They're for the volunteers and for his neighbors, many of whom have stopped by to commiserate and share a here-we-go-again look. The fact that so many of them have been through this before also has made them less anxious this time, Elsbernd said.

"A volunteer said to me, you look so calm. I told him, it's something you acquire," he said. "You've been through it so many times and you can only do so much. I do get a little stressed. You put in a ton of effort and then hope that we don't lose it."

Deb Elsbernd, feeling nostalgic, pulled out an old aerial map of the neighborhood just after the '97 floods. Then, the water was so high it covered the front steps outside the entrance to her house. The family tied a canoe to a post outside the house and used it to get around the neighborhood.

Not everyone has stayed. A dozen or so houses that were hit hard in '97 were bought out. Those are now open lots. Others left even though their houses are still standing. It's tough to know, John Elsbernd said, whether it was because of the ongoing flood threats or other factors. Some younger families have moved in during the past decade.

Cycle of dread, concern

Good neighbors who have become good friends, along with the peaceful setting and glimpses of wildlife, have made Elsbernd happy to call the neighborhood home all these years.

But lately, he admits, the regular intervals of dread and concern about flooding have given him and his wife pause.

"Next year we'll be empty nesters," he said, noting that his daughter is about to graduate from high school. "Right now, from my perspective, and I know the neighbors feel the same way, none of us want to leave. But you have to look at it long term.

"In '97, they said that was a 100-year event. We had a couple more in the last 12 years and I know I'm not 200 yet."

Allie Shah • 651-298-1550