Ye Olde Pumphouse that couldn't anymore. We'd mustered and rallied and multiplied into groups; we'd volunteered and took paying work, and shared the relief. Us young people were swapped between states, T'see and NC to fortify "strong". We'd also trained initial self-righteous Don't Tread On Me into To Be Rather Than To Seem. Through learning--book and experiential--we'd gained in levels and certifications and through "community" not bailing on place (when we couldn't get along) we'd all upped our game as Americans.
There was learning curve and distinctions between able and hey, can I get some help over here. The disaster at that time brought us to know ourselves and others better. It also brought new baseline and fresh technology and technique. Based on field experience academics and the other professions brought some human touches back to an increasingly digital world.
Some of us were with some local tradespeople covered in slime and lacking nutrition and rest but never giving up by the time we got to the pumphouse. We used whatever we had left in our supplies to try and repair a cracked housing. The watery sludge just kept coming out and coming out. We were so tired our lower halves were like lead as the water broke past electrical tape, bondo, bungy cord and a sock. We'd reached the end of helping but had committed to leaving no one behind as we went forth.
A contractor finally arrived and looked blankly at the situation. Went to his truck, put on hip waders, came back with a wrench as big as a small rifle, and asked us to peel the layers of "repairs". One layer even included some laundry line holding a St. Joseph prayer card to the cracked casing. A sort of reverse convoy of every kind of professional started to go by out on the street interspersed with compact energy-efficient cars handing out final Ready To Eats. And the blessed Safety Keepers who'd helped city and country navigate the tangle of us destroyed by weather were letting people know....
Time to move forward
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