 |
| Life left on the Kitchen Table |
When I was in elementary school I vividly remember learning about the city of Pompeii, a city buried in volcanic ash, every detail frozen in time. Working in the Prattsville four days after the destructive flooding of the town thoughts of Pompeii returned to my mind. The homemade salsa finished the night before the flood was still on the counter; the jars covered in silt. The child’s toy, under the coffee table, embedded in inches of heavy mud. The flood was unexpected, there was no warning, no evacuation notice; time stopped and the destruction began.
 |
| Main Street Prattsville |
Arriving to this disaster zone, which was once a peaceful mountain town, a few days after the flood meant the initial triage was over, but now what? Everyone on the mud covered main street was moving in slow motion past the destroyed houses and mangled businesses. The immediate needs had been met, power lines cut, roadways cleared, water provided, shelter arranged – but now what? It was like standing at the foot of a rugged mountain, how could you possibly climb to the top? The destruction was so great, the mud so heavy, the debris so tangled.
Stepping into the flood ravaged house, which a week before was a happy lively home for a young couple raising a darling toddler and expecting their second child in only three months, was an overwhelming experience. I could feel a sliver of what Greg and Becky were dealing with, the question of “where to begin?” When four feet of water flows through the first floor of your house it is merciless. It mashes together the treasure with the trash, and when it is done it leaves behind a muck that binds it all together. Everything but two laptops and a camera had been left just as it was, and thus destroyed.
Greg came downstairs Sunday morning, noting the rain, he started the day with a quick check of e-mail, Facebook and internet headlines. After ten minutes online, he looked outside again and noticed water starting to flood main street. He roused Becky, and in twenty minutes they were pulling out of their driveway through twelve inches of water; having grabbed only a few items from the house where they have lived for years. As they left it was unfathomable to think of six feet of flood water rushing down the main street in a flow which literally rivaled that of Niagara Falls.
But how does one climb even the tallest mountain? One step at a time. And so we began on that sunny Friday morning; piece by piece to empty out the first floor of their house. From cabinetry to Crocs, from water logged boxes of pasta to antique instruments, it all ended up outside on the remains of the driveway. Once the belongings which had been reduced to refuge were removed, then we could shovel. But you don’t cart a wheelbarrow through a home, so one shovel at a time the mud which effortlessly swept into the house was carried out so the house could begin to dry and undergo inspection. Once items had been extracted from the muck and removed to a sunny place, Greg and Becky Town could recover the durable artifacts from their life; carefully placing them in plastic storage bins for a day in the future when life might return to normal. They know there will be a day when once again they turn a house into a home.
It was only a start, but the climb up the mountain had begun. It was a blessing to be part of the process of recovery which will continue for a very long time. Ultimately every scrap of flooring, drywall, trim and cabinetry would need to be removed and replaced, but the house was no longer frozen in time. Unlike Pompeii which was lost forever, Prattsville is on the path toward new life.
 |
| Pastors Greg and Becky Town (with inspector - center) |
