And now … the work

THE OLDER man stood atop the hill and decided it was no longer a hill. It was a mountain. No, I can’t go back down again for more roofing and sheetrock. I’ve done it a dozen times this morning. My knees are wobbly.

Luckily, there were a couple of young men behind him who weren’t tired yet. They went down the mountain again. The older you get, the more you envy the young. Those kids could work all day. And would.

Over the way, the office manager was covered with sweat. And dust. And what looked like paint chips. Two young women carried what looked to be a cabinet of some sort to the salvageable pile. (Maybe it could be repaired.) Glass crunched underfoot. Everybody was coughing. The masks barely kept the dust out, not to mention the remains of fiberglass and torn insulation floating everywhere. The volunteers coughed, they hacked, they had to take a break and walk into the wind to catch a breath. What they didn’t do was complain.

Not once.

Down the hill, chainsaws buzzed as workers tore down the house in the valley. It, too, had been demolished by the tornado. Tornadoes don’t always level a house, leaving nothing behind but an empty space. Sometimes the twisters will pick up just most of a house, deposit it in a 40-acre section of woods, leaving a whole wall standing, maybe with all kinds of things dangling from it at odd angles-electrical wires, trusses, paneling, molding . . . . Friends and family will have to clear it all out before rebuilding can even begin. Other volunteers will have to sift through all those acres of woods looking for wedding albums, family heirlooms, fixable pieces of furniture . . . . A tornado makes no distinctions.

One volunteer looked at another and told him to take a break for goshsakes. Come on, man, no need for another casualty. Sit down for a few. There are towels and water bottles over there in the shade.

The first shift finished doing what it could, which didn’t seem like much when you looked around and realized how much was left to clean up. You clean up tornado sites the way you eat an elephant-a little at a time. Tomorrow was another day, Monday the start of another week. It’s not fast work, just steady work, that does it.

It was time to head back to the rallying point. Which was a church, of course. Going down the rocky road, slowly and carefully to avoid downed trees, a National Guard humvee passed. It was filled with young ladies passing out food. Sandwiches, cookies, come get it. Please take it. We made it for you.

Back at the church, people were grilling chicken and hamburgers. And mixing lemonade. Won’t you take some? If you’re too hot to eat now, then take some home. Please.

Good. Now how about some beans and slaw? Never mind. You just take that, honey.

After the tornadoes last week, some things will never be the same. Certainly some families won’t be. God bless and strengthen them as they mourn and cope. May they remember that nothing good is ever truly lost.

But some things, thank God, will always be the same. Like the people in Arkansas who’ll always show up on days like this. And others who’ll think to feed the people who show up on days like this.

Arkansas, you are something.

Thank you.