A State of Spirit
FIRST came the fires leaving only scorched earth. Scorched to the roots. And then
the rains came. “Biblical proportions,” they all said.
With no plants to hold or retard the flow and with the earth scorched to the
roots, the rains swelled to torrents and swept forth, taking anything in their path,
animal, human, or structure. It was a time of both terror and care.
For the many affected by the hell-filled raging currents of mud and waste, the
worst also brought out the best. Stories of people and creatures, facing with courage
the massive paths of destruction, began to emerge from devastated lives.
In the face of the onrushing torrents, a farmer opened his irrigation gates to
take the overflow into his remaining crop yield, guaranteeing the total loss of his
livelihood, but sacrificing his crop in unselfish exchange for the homes and lives of his
neighbors by sparing them the brunt of the torrents.
With spirits across the state at the lowest ebb, came the live videos from
helicopters, and the news folk, ready to keep us informed of the horrors below. We all
saw the beautiful horse standing unmoving in his fenced pasture, the river of mud and
filth coursing around his legs, threatening to sweep away or drown the apparently
helpless animal. News clip viewers around the state cursed the animal’s owners for
seemingly condemning the beast to an ugly death.
Later, when the news folks returned to the scene, they witnessed the animal still
standing its ground against the flood. After the torrent ebbed, they sent a reporter to
determine the horse’s fate. The animal, whose name is Socks, proved to be safe and
reasonably sound when he was brought out by his loving owner. He seemed more
concerned with the camera’s lights than by his recent hazardous adventure.
As the story emerged, we learned that Socks had chosen to go to the top of the
pasture, to stand, unmoving, eyes fixed, and watch over his field mates: a dozen or so
cows and some younger colts that were sheltering on higher ground, in fear of the
river’s relentless flow. Socks would not be moved from his vigil, and this bold
demonstration of courage and commitment brought many of us to tears.
Over the next days, as the ravages of the disaster became apparent, Socks
became a symbol of this state’s courage and spirit as citizens faced down the
destruction and began to rebuild.
Watching the rampaging waters course through one peaceful mountain resort
community after another, I saw the small gallery business of an acquaintance of mine,
directly in the path of the flood. E-mailing her to express my condolences and to
offer our assistance, she wrote back, confirming her safety and acknowledging the
destruction of her small gallery. But she closed her note with a parable:
“Just when the caterpillar thought the world was coming to an end,
she became a beautiful butterfly.”
I take umbrage with those who claim that storms like this are “once in a
century.” My new home, in the southwestern part of the city, sits on the very
perimeter of the destructive flood that swept through the area a scant five decades
ago.
That was a “once in a century flood,” too, but that time wise heads prevailed
and the wide pathway cut by the waters is now beloved as a broad parkland, a
recreational and wildlife sanctuary with a multitude of inviting trails, surrounding
newly rebuilt neighborhoods and businesses. Indeed, the caterpillar became a
beautiful butterfly.
As we emerge from this new horror, may we be wise enough to help the
caterpillar become a butterfly.
FIRST came the fires leaving only scorched earth. Scorched to the roots. And then
the rains came. “Biblical proportions,” they all said.
With no plants to hold or retard the flow and with the earth scorched to the
roots, the rains swelled to torrents and swept forth, taking anything in their path,
animal, human, or structure. It was a time of both terror and care.
For the many affected by the hell-filled raging currents of mud and waste, the
worst also brought out the best. Stories of people and creatures, facing with courage
the massive paths of destruction, began to emerge from devastated lives.
In the face of the onrushing torrents, a farmer opened his irrigation gates to
take the overflow into his remaining crop yield, guaranteeing the total loss of his
livelihood, but sacrificing his crop in unselfish exchange for the homes and lives of his
neighbors by sparing them the brunt of the torrents.
With spirits across the state at the lowest ebb, came the live videos from
helicopters, and the news folk, ready to keep us informed of the horrors below. We all
saw the beautiful horse standing unmoving in his fenced pasture, the river of mud and
filth coursing around his legs, threatening to sweep away or drown the apparently
helpless animal. News clip viewers around the state cursed the animal’s owners for
seemingly condemning the beast to an ugly death.
Later, when the news folks returned to the scene, they witnessed the animal still
standing its ground against the flood. After the torrent ebbed, they sent a reporter to
determine the horse’s fate. The animal, whose name is Socks, proved to be safe and
reasonably sound when he was brought out by his loving owner. He seemed more
concerned with the camera’s lights than by his recent hazardous adventure.
As the story emerged, we learned that Socks had chosen to go to the top of the
pasture, to stand, unmoving, eyes fixed, and watch over his field mates: a dozen or so
cows and some younger colts that were sheltering on higher ground, in fear of the
river’s relentless flow. Socks would not be moved from his vigil, and this bold
demonstration of courage and commitment brought many of us to tears.
Over the next days, as the ravages of the disaster became apparent, Socks
became a symbol of this state’s courage and spirit as citizens faced down the
destruction and began to rebuild.
Watching the rampaging waters course through one peaceful mountain resort
community after another, I saw the small gallery business of an acquaintance of mine,
directly in the path of the flood. E-mailing her to express my condolences and to
offer our assistance, she wrote back, confirming her safety and acknowledging the
destruction of her small gallery. But she closed her note with a parable:
“Just when the caterpillar thought the world was coming to an end,
she became a beautiful butterfly.”
I take umbrage with those who claim that storms like this are “once in a
century.” My new home, in the southwestern part of the city, sits on the very
perimeter of the destructive flood that swept through the area a scant five decades
ago.
That was a “once in a century flood,” too, but that time wise heads prevailed
and the wide pathway cut by the waters is now beloved as a broad parkland, a
recreational and wildlife sanctuary with a multitude of inviting trails, surrounding
newly rebuilt neighborhoods and businesses. Indeed, the caterpillar became a
beautiful butterfly.
As we emerge from this new horror, may we be wise enough to help the
caterpillar become a butterfly.