Yarn in the Yard

(Written 5/10/11) --

And only the porch steps remain

Last Saturday I met up with a national organization and rode out to do tornado clean up. Far to independent to allow the fact someone will not accompany me I went alone.   I hitched a ride to the site where we would be working with some folks from a local church.  There were two women and a man. One of the young women was extraordinarily gregarious. Normally I would be drawn to someone with her personality - but not this day and not in this situation.  I would separate from her quickly.

As we rode into the destroyed area I stared out the car window in shock. My brain could not - or would not - take in all that I was seeing.  I am embarrassed to say I wanted so badly to scream, “SHUT UP!” at the chatty young woman.  It seemed so irreverent for her to talk so loudly and laughingly in the face of such destruction and loss.

I thought I was ready. I looked at hundreds of pictures prior to this day ~ but upon arrival in the destroyed area I quickly realized the pictures can not capture the feeling of sacredness the wide open space yields. It is a sacred feeling that bleeds into humility and awe.

Nope.  Not a trailer ~ a former two-story house.

We regrouped at the house (or where it was supposed to be) and we each were given tasks to perform. The men went off to do manly things ~ cut down trees, put the famous blue tarps on the roofs. I was relegated to be with the girls ~ the giggly, non-stop talking girls. (Have I ever mentioned I prefer hangin’ with men? Just sayin….).

We womenfolk were to sweep up glass, insulation, dirt, sticks, etc. from a carport area. As we worked I watched one of the girls take a broom and push a large, water damaged book into the ever-growing pile of glass and trash. As it slid about five yards across the concrete driveway my heart skipped a beat.

I walked immediately to the pile of trash and picked up the book. I shook off the glass and dirt as best I could then walked to a clean, debris free area of concrete and laid it down. As a book lover I was scarred on a million levels. I slowly pulled away from the girls and let them continue socializing and sweeping. I do not want to hang with anyone who can so flippantly sweep a book into a trash pile. (That is said tongue and cheek ~ sort of).

BTW ~ The book was called THE WINNER! No joke! I totally hate Charlie Sheen missed that!! I am so ballsy I would have walked it up to him and asked him to sign it.  Then sold it on e-bay to help out the family of the house we were working. Bet that would have made the news.

After the “book incident” I went to the edge of the driveway to grab a swig of water and tell myself to breath. As I savored my water I looked out into an empty lot. I think it had always been empty ~ but seemed even more so now. The land was only dirt and some mud. I could see tracks where heavy equipment had driven through. As I turned to return to my broom something in the mud of the empty lot caught my eye.....something shiny. The driveway was about two feet above the lot so I jumped down and went out into the dirt. I kicked the dirt with my work boot once or twice - then with gloved hands I dug out the shiny thing.....a necklace. A beautiful necklace – very ornate and intact. I brushed my hand over the dirt on the ground a few times and found a matching earring. Not two – but one was better than nothing.

I began to look closely at the lot and the dirt. Every few feet I would see something and dig it up – sometimes it was broken pieces of plates or some type of decorative item that could no longer be identified. Then I pulled out an Avon collector bottle of cologne. It was cobalt blue and shaped like a giant referee whistle. I knew what it was before I wiped it off well. My mother has always sold Avon and my grandmother collected the Avon perfume and cologne bottles for years. She had them all in a small curio cabinet in her hallway.  After the whistle I found a football shaped bottle, then the body of an owl, then its’ head, then a gold peacock head, then the blue bottle that made its’ body. All the Avon bottles were intact – the caps still screwed on and the contents still inside.

Slowly but surely over several hours I unearthed a pretty impressive stack of stuff. A baseball cap, several NASCAR ticket stubs, school pictures, wedding pictures, candid shots, travel pictures, a card, a butcher knife with a 12-inch blade (Nope not kidding! ~ Imagine that flying around in 180+ mph winds!!) LOTS of silverware, a plastic cup or two. Then yarn started appearing, and material. Someone sews and knits. As I held a ‘skeen’ (I think it is called) of yarn I thought again of my grandmother. The yarn was in ‘baby colors’ ~ I smiled thinking of the baby blanket my grandmother knit me for Christmas over a decade ago. When I opened the baby blanket that year she said, “By the time you have a baby I’ll be dead and gone so I want to give that to you now.” At the time I thought the comment cruel ~ but I realize now it was prophetic.

I love that this stick was stuck in the yarn like a knitting needl

A while later - I don't know how long - the announcement came that we were through at this house and moving to another part of the city. My heart sank. Leave? We couldn’t leave. There was so much left to get out of the dirt ~ I had not even gotten started good! As we gathered all our work gear I kept lingering by my stack of treasures. I did not want to leave them afraid they would be looted in the night. The woman from the house next door came over and I showed her all I had found. She knew many people in the pictures from two, three even four houses up. I felt better knowing she knew the items were there.

My Lot ~ That was never mine and never truly will be.

That night I lay in bed and cried over that lot and every single hidden treasure just under the surface of dirt. OH the treasures just under the surface!! My heart will forever mourn that lot and all the memories buried there. I remember thinking the drivers of the heavy equipment were simply doing their jobs.  The drivers assumed it was all garbage they did not have time to go through every broken, tattered item to see if it was salvageable. They had equipment to drive and people to help. And then I remembered “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Or in this case – one man’s trash is another man’s only tangible evidence there was actually a home, a life ~ an existence before the tornado.

As I lay in bed that night I realized I would have to let go of my desire to salvage those precious items ~ just as their rightful owners had to let them go. I cried even harder.

A sympathy card I found.  It reads, "Wishing you peace in this time of sorrow."