Onion Creek Ghost Streets: An Urban Refuge

An abandoned neighborhood street in South Austin

I first heard about the flood plains while working at my news station in Austin. It’s an abandoned neighborhood built on the city’s south side that was almost completely demolished in 2018 after that part of town kept flooding.

In the 1970s, subdivisions with thousands of homes were developed around Austin’s Onion Creek, despite the area’s known flood risks. The first major flood in 1998 affected over 100 homes, with subsequent floods in 2001 and 2006 worsening the damage. The 2013 Halloween Flood was the most catastrophic, with Onion Creek rising 11 feet in 15 minutes and reaching a record height of 41 feet, killing five people and damaging over 1,200 homes.

Following the 1998 flood, a study revealed errors in FEMA’s flood maps. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers recommended buying out properties in flood-prone areas. The city acquired over 800 homes by 2018, demolishing most and converting the land into Onion Creek Metropolitan Park. Despite this, remnants of the old streets and some abandoned properties remain, including non-native plants and issues with illegal dumping. However, concerns about homelessness in the area have decreased with renewed enforcement of camping bans.

We’ve interviewed a few people before who still live in that area (and still have problems with aforementioned flooding), but I’d never actually been down there myself until going out of my way one Saturday; I wanted the time to truly soak it all in.

Turning off Ben White Boulevard, this part of South Austin isn’t what I would have called “abandoned” by any means. A few miles west of the airport, I notice a ton of food trucks, gas stations, and used car dealerships. A quick check of Google Maps shows a handful of breweries tucked away in side-street warehouses; even a few schools.

The GPS eventually led me down a wooded backstreet past a couple of small churches and other old buildings before dumping me in a park that surprisingly had a decent amount of cars with several people using the playground and walking trail.  

The map showed if I kept going through the parking lot I would get to the neighborhood so I continued on my way, taking care not to break the speed limit since there were a more than a few police patrolling the area.

The park looked in disarray, like it hadn’t been maintained in at least a year. The reflection of the sun off the tall unkept grass revealed the silhouette of a person laying on a picnic table beneath one of the gazebos. I made my way out of the park, and into what felt like a scene from Fallout.

I’ll admit I was a bit skeptical before turning that corner, but as soon as I saw the empty driveways, nearly all my doubts were erased. The second thing I noticed was the silence, amplified by the buzzing of the locusts. The whole ambiance felt so serene, but wildly safe; like I was in purgatory or something.

Continuing down the road I came across some RV’s that people were living in. A man and woman sitting in camp chairs gave me the nod as I drove by; the crackle of their makeshift campfire could be heard competing with the sound of the locusts. Another man further down the road was sleeping in his pickup truck; ladders and other painting supplies seen overflowing from the bed.

Driving further, I noticed at least 2 homes surrounded by fences that were still waiting to be knocked down. A smaller side road led to an empty cul-de-sac with 5 empty driveways leading to nowhere. Had the houses still been there, they probably would have been pretty big.

A few of the concrete foundations were still there; some of them overtaken by tents, RV’s and other transient shelters. Despite the neighborhood being technically condemned, these few square blocks felt surprisingly vibrant.

Those thoughts were only reinforced when I took a turn and saw a pair of cyclists, which seemed weird at first until I saw a runner too, and behind him was a woman walking her dog. These people had all purposefully chosen to come here. Whether that be for the serenity or the wide streets with a lack of cars, there were folks refusing to let this part of the city die. And even more noteworthy, the fact that they didn’t seem to mind the people living in their cars or cooking food over oil can fires.

 I don’t know what the future of that isolated neighborhood holds, but it seems to me that the death of one community simply led to the birth of a different kind of one. An area of the city that seemed defunct at first glance is still very much alive.

What was once a neighborhood for some, has actually turned into somewhat of a refuge for all.