Not factoring in the windchill, it’s 8 degrees at about 7:30 as we pull into Washington, Illinois on Saturday morning. The windows of the school bus, that about 30 of us have made the 2 and a half hour trip in are frosted over, and a sense of morbid curiosity causes me to begin scratching my fingernail across the icy glass in an attempt to get a glimpse of the effects an EF4 tornado had on this town during the morning of November 17th 2013. I can’t get a good view but from what little I can see, nothing looks out of the ordinary, nothing that would distinguish this town from any of the others I have ever passed through. That will soon change.
We get off of the bus and file into Our Savior Lutheran Church, it’s the command post so to speak. We sign a waiver absolving anyone of liability if we’re injured while volunteering, and then are briefed by a representative of Lutheran Church Charities. He tells us that every disaster area is different, with very different needs, and this is something new; the city of Washington has decided that debris removal from the tornado is the responsibility of each individual homeowner and some homeowners are being told that their insurance may not cover all or even any of the expenses of the debris removal. 1100 houses have been hit, with 800 left uninhabitable. Thus the urgent need for help.
Given the address and a little background on where we’ll be helping out, we’re told that three dumpsters are typically needed to clear the debris of a single house, but where we’re going it’s estimated that debris from two or three other homes have landed on this property. Seven dumpsters have been filled at this site. (As it will turn out we will end up filling 3 more ourselves.) Amy, the woman who lives here has been out digging through rubble almost everyday since the tornado. Her husband has begged her to stop but she’s on a mission; finding a small box that held her grandmothers jewelry. Jewelry intended to someday be handed down to her children. We’re reminded that if she is there today, please be sensitive to her, 3 weeks after the tornado she’s still in a fragile state. The thought of being able to find that treasured box for her gives all of us an added sense of purpose.
We climb back on the bus and head toward our destination. The sun is bright enough that it has melted most of the ice on the windows and as we wind our way through the streets of what was only days ago a neighborhood much like yours or mine, the reality of what happened here begins to become clear. Clear yes, but not easy to describe.
The bus stops and we get off. There’s no sign of an address but two dumpsters standing in the middle of what once used to be a front yard are the first clue that we’re at the correct place. Our destination is confirmed when we see a battered door propped up sideways against the foundation of the house. The names Amy and Ted have been spray painted on the door. We are here.
The first thing I notice as I look around, is that I can make out the path of the storm. Far to my left, rows of houses still standing, to my right an elementary school that somehow came out unscathed. But in between those two, as I look straight ahead, it’s like looking down a corridor of destruction. Mounds of wood and garbage piled high. A few bare trees bent into odd shapes, looking like something you would envision when reading an Edgar Allen Poe story. Empty cement slabs with an occasional fireplace sticking up, like monuments placed there after the tornado had already passed through.
We begin to work. Tree branches, bushes, logs, they go in that pile, the other trash goes in the dumpsters. There’s also a “save table.” Anything you might find of value goes there. That’s where we hope to put Amy’s jewels.
Along with some wood I pick up a child’s Toy Story 3 book and absentmindedly toss it into the dumpster, it quickly get’s buried beneath other trash before I begin to question whether or not I should have placed it on that table. It becomes apparent to me that when you don’t know someone, it’s nearly impossible to understand what type of things they might consider valuable. I decide that going forward my motto should be, “When in doubt, DON’T throw it out.” These people have lost enough already.
About an hour into our project everyone is becoming aware that we will not be the hero’s who find Amy’s jewelry. But we are serving as the hands of God not treasure hunters. The reality is that Amy may never find her jewels, she’s already searched for days and found none of them. Maybe a dozen years from now and five miles from where Amy used to live, someone with a metal detector will get a hit. Maybe he’ll bend down and find a ring and marvel at his good fortune, never knowing where it’s journey started. For today what we find will be limited to a 2001 photo of “Kimmy age 8”, some books, and a couple of knick knacks, all of which may or may not be Amy and Ted’s. Everything else ends up in the dumpsters or on the wood pile. Eight hours of work in temperatures that dipped to a low of 6 degrees will at least insure that the next time Amy drives past her property she will see an area free of debris and have renewed hope that her and Ted’s life can be rebuilt. We’ve accomplished what we can.
With the sun setting we get back on the bus for the trip home. Leaving town I take note of one last house. A two story with the roof and walls missing. I can look directly into an upstairs bedroom and see an open closet with a complete wardrobe hanging neatly untouched. I wonder how that’s possible?
The ride home is much more quiet than on the way up. We’re all tired and I’m sure many of us are still trying to digest all that we have seen. It’s dark now and the windows of the bus are once again iced up. I can’t see a thing but I stare out the window anyway. After rehashing in my minds eye the devastation I saw, I start to think about what people lost. Not the monetary but the personal. Things of the heart that can’t be replaced. I begin to wonder how I’ll react the next time the tornado siren goes off in my neighborhood. If I have the time, what items will I remember to take with me before I retreat to my basement. My grandfathers ring handed down to me from my dad? My bible? That little donkey that sits on my dresser, the one with the butterfly on his butt that has little monetary value and means nothing to anyone except for me? And what will I forget? Something for sure.
Before it’s too late, let’s take a minute to think about what’s important to us, what we want to save; and while we’re thinking, let’s make a promise. If it ever comes to this, if we’re ever needed to dig through each others junk, debris, valuables, let’s promise to put everything we find on each others “save table.” Because we can’t, nor should we be, the judge of where someone elses treasures lie.