I never thought we would be here this long but we are. Thanksgiving is coming up fast…only two days away. Thanksgiving morning we will not wake up to the usual aroma of gravy and stuffing. Tim, Seth and I will still be here at La Jolla, sifting through ash, lifting piles of metal, crushing burnt cars, and franticly trying to get these home sites clear. The winds are coming on Wednesday; they might start fires again. The rain is coming; it could be here any day. What is ahead is almost impossible to prepare for. How do you hold a mountain back when the hills, as far as the eyes can see, begin to slide? I feel the urgency as I sit in this makeshift cabin two miles outside the Indian reservation. Though the sun has been down for hours, my heart is beating in such a way that I want to get back out there and begin work. But we must rest and get some sleep.
At daybreak we begin again. The sooner I get the charred lots clear, the sooner trailers can be brought in and stocked with clothing and food. Communication has not yet been established. The phone lines are not connected yet and even if they were, where would they connect to? If another fire starts, if the mudslides begin, how will all the Indians in these mountains know the danger that befalls them?
I never cease to be amazed how disasters change people. We don’t have many stories because the fact remains most of these Indians have left their destroyed homes. But the few we meet are thankful we are here and, more amazingly, they are thankful for what they have left. As I have said before, fires destroy everything and leave nothing behind. But what we would call junk, what we would call charred garbage, is what they call theirs.
Yesterday Tim and Seth ventured up a gravel road that was so questionable we weren’t even sure if it was a good idea to take our highly-specialized and valuable claw truck up it. We walked the road first. Seth thought he could handle it, and we agreed to pioneer to the site. Later this evening Tim shared with me that two women came and explained how they would like to watch as Tim and Seth grabbed debris and loaded it in the truck. Obviously the guys agreed but only found an old car jack, some weights, and a knife. Out of nowhere on
e of the ladies said, “This might be nothing but junk and metal to you, but this is my metal and junk.”
I’m not sure if I will ever truly understand what that lady meant. What would make a melted pile of metal and ash so meaningful to someone? I don’t know but I’m glad we helped this lady find those few items. If it means that much to them, then it means something to me.
Sometimes I feel such a disconnect from those we are helping because I have never truly walked in their shoes. Don’t get me wrong, I have had loss in my life – mostly those I loved and miss dearly – but no matter how many times you have gone through loss, it’s as if it’s happening for the first time.
God, if you are out there, give these people enough strength to make it through each day…for this too shall pass.
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