The Accidental Clean-up Crew

#Hurricane Dorian is finally over.

For days, that giant storm teased those of us who lived along the southeastern coast of the United States. We experienced a mandatory evacuation (those many of us paid no need), days of anticipation, binge-eating hurricane snacks, and then 36 hours of rather relentless rain and some mighty powerful winds. But with that said, our area experienced only tropical force winds; those who live north of here on the Outerbanks of North Carolina and even further north in Nova Scotia took a much worse beating. And nothing compares to the devastation suffered in the Bahamas. Nonetheless, tropical storm winds created a real mess in the yard.

Now I don’t mean to complain, though I do suffer from a somewhat mild case of “martyr syndrome” (I believe I just created that diagnosis). That syndrome came into full bloom Friday morning when my husband left for a three-day weekend with his daughter while we still had no power in the house and no indication when power would return. I believe the “martyr syndrome” was more than justified.

Suffice it to say that our power was restored later that morning, after a 30-hour outage. We were among the luckier ones in the Lowcountry. That’s when serious clean-up begins. That’s when I went to work because I am not one to live in a debris field.

For two solid mornings, I raked, carted, blew leaves, dragged branches, washed decks, hung plants, redecorated outdoor porches, created mountains of debris at the curb, and did the best I could to make my husband feel guilty. (I didn’t mean to; it just happened naturally!) On Sunday, I rested. A rake just seemed too damn heavy to lift.

The calm before the storm, when the outside comes in!

Is the job done? No.

Am I done? Yes.

For two reasons. My husband has returned from his ill-timed weekend away. The remainder of the work is his to do. Secondly, our landscaper will be here at 9 a.m. tomorrow with chainsaw in hand. There are four large pieces of trees down that require the use of a chainsaw, which we do not own nor do we want to own. That would simply be an invitation to disaster.

The upside of this activity? There are several: I had two extended periods of exercise outside of the gym. It’s always good to change your routines. Nor will I will let my husband forget that he left me in my time of need. (As he knows, it is easy for me to forgive; I simply never forget.)

And the bottom line is this: hurricanes, and other crises, bring out the best in people, I think. Neighbors help neighbors. Our Harris Teeter was distributing free ice and water; perhaps other stores did the same. Friends, some of whom had fallen out of contact for years, reached out to see how we were.

Coping with a “crisis,” whether natural or manmade, always demonstrates another dimension of our strength. Now it’s time to get back to the gym.