This is America

Our city was hammered again by a dreadful storm this week. It was a one-two punch that felt relentless. The storm began with strong winds, small hail, rain and a twenty-degree drop in temperature. Just as we breathed a sigh of relief at the storm's passing, a wall of wind slammed us, packing sustained speeds of over eighty miles an hour. In an insane moment I went to the garage to advise my husband to head to the basement. The garage door was open as he watched the ferocious winds do their damage. Suddenly, there was an explosive sound and we watched a large tree by our driveway start to give way. Several more awful cracking sounds and we knew our stately tree had lost much of its dignity.

After the storm relented we were able to assess the damage in our yard as well as the neighborhood. Limbs, leaves and bark littered lawns and streets. Many old guard trees stood akimbo with ravaged branches. And, as is often the case after a disaster, we were drawn to gather with our neighbors in driveways to share war stories. We had the greatest damage on our immediate block, not an honor one strives to earn.

It wasn't long before the clean-up reality set in. My husband made a couple of calls and found a tree service able to come to our aid that evening. One neighbor brought over his small electric chain saw so we were able to start working on the branches in the street. Another neighbor came over with his pruning shears and started snapping some of the smaller branches for us. Soon enough a white pickup roared into our driveway and out hopped two able-bodied gentlemen with a serious-business-chainsaw in hand. They donned eye and ear protection and got to work. One of them shimmied up the tree like a gifted squirrel. He lopped off huge limbs that were threatening to crack even more. I had to look away on occasion as I imagined the falling debris going in scary directions. They made quick work of our tree and promised to send another guy in the morning to clean up the piles.

Sure enough, bright and early the next day, a very skilled young man showed up with a brutus of a truck equipped with a grapple hook and all the tools necessary to pick up tree detitrus. I watched in awe as he skillfully loaded the piles into his truck. As a person with severe spatial issues, I was amazed at his expertise. I was also grateful for the elimination of some back breaking work for us.

Other than a well-amputated tree and a few leaves and twigs on the lawn, there is little evidence of the carnage caused by the storm at our house. We are thankful our house and garage were spared. Our garden looks like a herd of elephants tromped through it but we have hope that it will bounce back, too.

Buried in the storm were the blessings. Hard working men and women removed damaged trees. More hard workers toiled into the evening to restore the electricity many of us lost. City leaders worked to clear streets and repair structural damages. Park and rec folks cleaned up our beautiful city parks. Meteorologists kept us informed of weather conditions. Neighbors helped neighbors.

From my vantage point, this is America. Many news feeds paint a very different picture and I, for one, need to stay balanced in my perspective. My old ash tree may be a little skimpier but goodness abounds.