10/01/2024
Ree and I have done hurricane relief work in Florida, Georgia, Mississippi, coastal Carolinas, so the sensory and emotional experience is not unfamiliar:
The stink of the endless mud.
The piles of soaked furniture, carpet, drywall, insulation everywhere.
Roads washed out or buckled. SLOW driving.
Trees down everywhere, broken off, sawed off, or just turned over with roots showing.
Trashed cars and trucks in every stream and low place, some upright and looking good, except full of mud, some on their top with just the wheels sticking up
Every stream and the trees around them filled with the debris of human existence: clothes, tents, kayaks, plastic bags, refrigerators, gas tanks and grills, unknown pieces of sheet metal, fuel tanks, plastic parts of every variety.
The constant roar, whine, thump, of generators, helicopters, dump trucks, and heavy equipment.
Hollow-eyed people, some busy, some just standing stunned, all with one question: "you got power yet?"
But when it's OUR town, OUR neighborhood, it's a whole different experience.
