First Day on the Ground

First day on the ground.We have partnered with the university here, and, on their campus, life looks normal. Driving to the center of town, our vans cross 20th street and the surroundings look like a nuclear meltdown. This truly looks like a bomb site - we have been told there is more rubble here than at the World Trade Center, and it is believable. Stark tree branches, houses in rubble, piles of brick and wood that were schools and churches and homes that are now just piles.

The volunteer organizers on the ground are orderly, but lacking central leadership. Part of this is due to the sheer volume of work that needs to be done, partly because of bureaucratic issues, partly due to the number of volunteer agencies here. The field group begins cutting and moving trees, and are told they have to move to front areas, as we need individual waivers and permits in order to clean back yards. Given the houses are completely razed, it's hard to beievee that crossing from the front to the back of the rubble is a problem -- but apparently it is. We're asked to place personal items on the front stoop in case the residents return. It is unsettling to sort through the wreckage -- literally -- of lives and place items we might think are important on the porch. It is overwhelming, heart wrenching work, coupled with crushing heat.

Still, our spirits are good. So many generous hearts. We didn't need our MRE's (darn!) as so many people were driving around in their cars, handing out food to workers.

End of day, we head to Columbus, Kansas, my hometown, about 30 miles from Joplin, to the host homes that have volunteered to take us in. Past wheat fields, cows, horses, and the Kansas National Forest (thanks for the renaming, Eric!) we arrive in early evening. Hospitality abounds and we are warmly welcomed. Some are luckier than others -- Aunt Peggy leaves warm cookies on the counter for Brittany and Maggie, Gary has cold beer and a swimming pool for Tom and Nasim. After quick showers, back to my dad's farm where my sister, Ande, has made us a wonderful dinner. Root beer floats for dessert, we watch the sun set over the fields. It is quiet and serene; we are reflective as we make the rounds, taking people home.

Up at 5:30 to make the pickup runds again, on the road at 6:30. Today, most of us are out to the debris fields. Another hot day, sun already beating down. There is so much to be done! It is truly overwhelming. We know we can't do much, but we can do this. Mike Harris reminds us of the story of the young boy throwing starfish back into the ocean. "You aren't ever going to get them all out there," he's told "It won't matter in the end." The boy looks up as he throws another. "It will matter to this one."