FLOOD OF GOODNESS
Worst of Mother Nature brings out best in human nature
After spending a sleepless night listening to floodwaters rip through the first floor of our home and debating whether to evacuate through the second-floor window, my wife and I surveyed the wreckage of Ida’s second punch with a naïve helplessness that was almost laughable.
“So, I guess we need some extra trash bags,” my wife said, gesturing to the overturned kitchen island that dumped its contents all over the water and mud that lined every inch of the floor.
“Yeah, I’ll make a list of everything we need or something,” I said, staring at the impossible task ahead of us in disbelief.
What we needed was a small army — and then that army came. First came the neighbors, followed closely by friends and family, pouring into our home as unexpectedly as the flood did the previous night.
They came armed with buckets and bins and an endless supply of those heavy-duty contractor bags you can fill to the brim with sopping drywall. They brought power washers and wet vacs and a sheer determination to do whatever they could to help. They didn’t ask what they could do; they just did what needed to be done. My wife and I worked shoulder to shoulder with friends, family and in some cases, virtual strangers, gutting drywall, ripping up flooring, scrubbing anything that could be salvaged and dismissing of the entire mess in a giant, 30-yard Dumpster. A week after Ida destroyed most of our house, we are somehow ready to
rebuild.
It’s a strange thing to watch the “remnants” of a hurricane destroy your entire home. It’s the kind of helplessness that leads naturally into despair. But instead of despondence, I felt something like hope in those first days after the flood. Every time I started to feel sorry for myself, I’d look over and see an old friend, drenched in sweat, swinging a hammer into a crowbar to pry loose hardwood flooring or glimpse a brother-in-law carting off a heaping wheelbarrow full of debris, and I’d feel both humbled and inspired.
Each morning, minutes after I arrived at my crime scene of a home, my neighbor would walk through the door and ask, “What are we getting into today?” He put in at least 12 hours on Labor Day alone, all while his wife worked tirelessly outside the house.
I could fill this entire column with the names of individuals helped us, who carried us through those critical first days. I don’t have the words right now
to express my gratitude to everyone. On top of time, sweat and a place to stay (Sorry about all the ginger ale I drank), many people donated money, toys and enough comfort food to jump a pants size. One evening, I was waiting for the mold remediation guy
to stop by when a man I never met before walked up to my house and said, “you poor SOB (he didn’t abbreviate). Here’s some BBQ sliders.” He then walked a few paces before turning back around to say, “Name’s John, by the way. I put the windows on your
house back in the day.”
It will be a long time before my family is fully recovered and enjoying some semblance of normal, but I know how lucky I am. Many people had the opposite experience and have been kicked repeatedly while they were down and out. I’ve driven by the homes with piles of their belongings protected only by plywood
boards with “No Trespassing” spray painted on them. But I know there are others who had similar experiences, who have seen what people can do when they come together with the sole purpose of helping those who are suffering.
This experience renewed my belief in the inherent goodness of people. The most devastating aspects
of mother nature will often bring out the very best qualities in human nature. Thank you to everyone who has proven this to my family and me. Soon it will be our turn to pay it forward.
Jared Bilski lives in Collegeville.