Category: Natural Disasters

A Rainy Afternoon

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

rainy-afternoon-zadar-93e60d499c2f267c33de164c89ad35caLast Sunday was a dreary day, a kind of last hurrah for winter in the south that always seems to arrive in the first weeks of March. The rain washed out my plans to tinker in my yard so I ended up at Costco along with a huge crowd that included some of my neighbors. I suppose that we all decided to go in spite of the weather, or maybe because of it.

I played a game of noting what everyone had in their carts. It’s always a ton of fun to see what items people select from the vast inventory of televisions and popcorn, clothing and canned goods. The winner always seems to be one of those big batches of toilet paper, the reason that I was there, but there are also many boxes of cereal and cartons of eggs lolling inside the grocery baskets of almost everyone.

Some people appear to be preparing for Armageddon with many years’ supplies of everything from vitamins to dog food. They literally need rolling pallets to carry all of their selections and I find myself wondering where they will be able to store all of the makeup and motor oil. I imagine rows of shelves along the walls of their garages with labels indicating when each item of inventory expires. I like to picture their families and the reasons that compel them to choose certain things.

I limited myself to purchasing only the basics, toilet paper, paper towels, two chickens, a pot roast and some pork chops. I have to control my impulses or I will walk out with more than will fit in my car and even worse, more than I will ever use. With no children in the house a flat of apples tends to be an overabundance that will lead to rotting fruit at the bottom of my produce drawer. Still I am often tempted to purchase enough facial tissues to last through several flu seasons simply because the price is so fetchingly low.

I almost always enjoy lunch while I am there. After all, I can’t resist the idea of getting a huge polish sausage on a bun with endless refills of Pepsi for only a dollar fifty. Besides, sitting at a table munching on my feast allows me a bit more people watching time and it is definitely a show. I find myself wondering who all these folks are and from whence they come. They are a diverse bunch who seem to represent every possible strata of American society. Somehow the buyers at Costco have managed to carry all of the items that they seek, including motorcycles and tires. I laugh a bit when I think of how much joy a place like this would have brought my mom. The two of us might have sat for hours just soaking in all of the entertainment that comes from viewing such a large a slice of life.

Once I got home the downpour had increased and it was obvious that there wasn’t going to be a break in the weather. I sat in my favorite chair and read one of my several latest books. I tend to be in the middle of three or four at a time which may sound a bit strange but I write it off to the effects of my attention deficit disorder. The one that seemed appropriate for a rainy day was a volume that I found on my last trip to New Orleans entitled 1 Dead in Attic. It is a compilation of articles written by a reporter from The Times Picayune written in the aftermath of hurricane Katrina. Each essay is short and quick to read so I can enjoy one or multiples depending on how much time I have to devote. The author, Chris Rose, shares his love of New Orleans and the stories of despair and revival that kept him and his fellow citizens from going insane in a time that was almost beyond the capacity of words to describe. His sense of humor and humanity captures the appalling images as well as the can do spirit of people who refused to declare their home town dead on arrival. It is a joyful dirge and intimate portrait of a city in total disarray that somehow found the where with all to overcome the most unimaginable tragedy. It will make you laugh and cry at one and the same time which is an oddly appropriate way of thinking about New Orleans.

I thought of the first time that I returned to New Orleans after Katrina. The city was still devastatingly somber. The crowds that had so often filled the streets were decidedly small. There were diehards attempting to keep the spirit of revelry alive but they were definitely struggling. We had breakfast at Brennan’s and there was still an odd aroma of mildew in the air. We didn’t need reservations because hardly anyone was there. The waitress who served us literally cried when we told her that we were from Houston. She and her family had found refuge in our city after hers had been so destroyed. She thanked us for our hospitality and told us that this was literally the very first day that the famous restaurant had been open since the storm. I almost lost my composure as she fell all over us trying to express her happiness that things were beginning to return to normal.

I remember how we drove around on the highways trying not to look like buzzards as we gazed at entire neighborhoods that had been reduced to rubble. It was like a scene out of a dystopian movie and it broke my heart. As I read Chris Rose’s descriptions of what he encountered only days after the hurricane it was difficult to imagine that I had first seen the city after it had actually made great progress in coming back to life.

I have always loved to watch rain from my windows. It comforts me. Sadly many of the people who came here from New Orleans after that horrific storm confided that for quite some time the sound of rain was terrifying. I remember having to console children and teachers who literally came undone whenever the weather became frightful. Some of them cried and related tales of things that they had seen that would never really fade from their memories. In reading 1 Dead in the Attic I have truly begun to understand just how much their lives were forever changed.

Its been twelve years since that unbelievable natural disaster. New Orleans was rocking on my last visit and yet it had still somehow changed. The people who stayed and those who came later have continued the traditions and still harbor the unexplainable feelings of devotion that they have for this very special place but now there is always an element of fear and caution in the back of their minds. Only recently they were once again reminded of just how fragile their home is when tornadoes ripped through an area of town that had barely been reclaimed from the ravages of Katrina. It takes a special kind of personality and resilience to live in New Orleans but Mr. Rose explains quite well why there will always be those who are willing to endure hell and high water just to experience the magic.

All in all I have to admit that people watching at Costco and reading vignettes from a well written book made for a very fine Sunday afternoon. It’s good to have a change of pace now and again. Sunshine is always nice but there is much to be said for the comfort of a gentle rain and a view of the ever present parade of humanity.

The Content of Our Hearts

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

tenn_fireWhen my daughters were still children our family traveled to Smoky Mountain National Park. I have to admit that we didn’t find it to be as breathtaking as the Rocky Mountains or other scenic destinations that we have visited and yet there was something almost primally inviting about the place. I found myself wondering if the wilderness that I saw on our hikes resembled the world of my grandfather. He had grown up in the shadow of the area before the dawn of the twentieth century, describing his boyhood home as being quite primitive but lovely beyond the limits of words. He spoke of seeing the mountains in the distance and longing to travel there. Eventually he made it like we did and he thought them to be as enchanting as he had imagined.

I’ve been quite sad to hear of the destruction in Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge, two towns that have struggled economically over the years but found a way to survive by catering to the tourists who have been flocking to the mountains for decades. Most of the businesses in those places are owned by local residents who operate candy stores, eateries and ice cream emporiums as a way of earning a living. There are hotels, mini golf courses and amusements for virtually every taste. I admittedly found the place to be a bit over the top and didn’t want to stay long but I know people who visit every single year and are absolutely convinced that it is a kind of heaven on earth. I tend to prefer natural beauty to manmade sights and sadly the raging wildfires are destroying both human structures and ancient forests.

The photos coming from that location are heartbreaking. Some of the townspeople are calling it Armageddon. Having a rather primitive fear of fire makes me especially sympathetic to those who have lost their homes, businesses and possessions, not to mention the unfortunate souls who have died. Today I looked at photos of exhausted firefighters literally collapsing onto the pavement after hours of fighting desperately to control the blaze. The look of defeat on their faces said more than any descriptions of what is happening there.

One of my aunts lost her home in a fire a few years back. She was happily decorating her yard for Christmas when she saw flames coming from her roof. She did her best to save a few treasures but the burning accelerated even before the firefighters arrived. Her house with everything in it burned to the ground, so many memories gone forever. She has never really moved on from the tragedy of losing so much of what she had accumulated over a lifetime. All of her home movies melted into celluloid balls. The family Bible that had been handed down for generations was a heap of ash. Nothing was spared but her life and that of her husband.

They moved to a senior living facility where they have found a semblance of peace but there has been a sadness about her that was never before there. She was ninety years old when it happened, far too old to think of starting over again. She is, of course, happy to still be alive and she realizes better than anyone that everything that burned was nothing compared to a human life and yet in each of our homes there are priceless items that we enjoy and that seem to define us in some ways.

I recall learning in English class that we have the power to “love” people but we should only “like” things. It is an important distinction that we should all observe because in the long history of humanity there have been many instances in which people lost everything but the clothes on their backs. They had to begin anew, start fresh. I think of the victims of the Holocaust whose very humanity was threatened for a time. I consider the citizens of New Orleans whose homes were swept away by punishing waters. I wonder how it must have felt to watch the tsunami instantly destroying a modern city in Japan. Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, wars have stolen the humble belongings of countless people and time and again they have risen like phoenixes. It is in our human DNA to pick ourselves up and try again.

Still such events leave a scar on those who must endure them. I know people from New Orleans who lost their homes to hurricane Katrina. They become fearful when heavy rains pour from the sky. My daughter won’t light a candle in her house because she was once the victim of a fire started by an unattended candle in the apartment building where she lived. Just as I shutter when I hear of car accidents because such an event caused my father’s death, so too do those who have had horrific experiences relive them in certain circumstances.

My heart is heavy for the people who have had to flee their homes in the Smokey Mountains. It will be decades before the lovely beauty that they have enjoyed returns. Nature will eventually come back to life and they may rebuild but the precious sense of security that they may have felt is gone for a time, if it ever even returns.

I look around the home that I so enjoy and think of how horrible it would be to suddenly lose it. I remember a time when a priest asked us to imagine how we might feel if every thing that we owned were taken away and we were left standing naked but with our family and friends intact. He urged us to look into our hearts and decide what is truly important, hinting that what we own is never where our focus should be.

In this season of Christmas we should think of the young couple who traveled to Bethlehem so long ago, staying in a cold manger on the night of their child’s birth. Their earthly possessions were few and yet they had brought a savior into the world whose influence would live right into our present century. He would teach us that there is nothing that we ever do that is as important as loving ourselves and our neighbors. It is a difficult command that we do not always follow as well as we might. We become distracted by the pursuit of wealth, power and things that in the end turn to dust. It is only in how we truly live according to God’s word that we find the peace and contentment that we seek.

We should all look within especially when we see the constant reminders of how fragile our lives are. As terrible as those fires are they should send the message that what truly matters is the content of our hearts.

The Weather Outside Is Frightful

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

A-Stormy-Atlantic.jpgThe weather outside if frightful. No, it’s not snowing. It’s too warm. This is the last day of November and I have yet to wear a sweater or a pair of boots. My grass is stilling growing and in need of a good mowing. I have hibiscus blooms and dozens of roses. While it is a lovely sight I am a creature of habit and it is simply not supposed to be this temperate at this time of year. I’m all in for some cold weather but it doesn’t seem to be anywhere on the horizon.

The stores in my city can barely give away coats. I won’t be surprised if someone is one day standing at the exits passing them out to anyone who wants to take them away. Sweaters are faring no better. The winter season will pass and I will never have removed my flip flops. Usually by now I have switched my winter things to a more prominent position in my closet but this year I have left those things hidden in the dark recesses. I wonder if I will need them at all.

I point all of this out because I can’t imagine how anyone still clings to the false premise that climate change is a myth. It stands to reason that we have a symbiotic relationship with nature. There are photos from space that show the destruction that we have wrought on our planet and our atmosphere. We have already reached a dangerous tipping point and yet there are far too many people who argue that we humans have nothing to do with the changes that are so apparent to those of us who have witnessed many seasons.

A recent article in my local newspaper pointed out that areas of the city are experiencing flooding problems for the first time in their history. An expert noted that when communities are being initially planned the builders generally take drainage into account and grade to insure that run off goes into the gutters. Of late individuals are tearing down older homes and erecting massive houses that disregard the way heavy rains will flow. The result has been devastating in some places. This of course is just one more way in which we humans sometimes ignore the negative effect of our decisions.

We have a world of problems and we have become accustomed to living in relative luxury compared to our ancestors. My children are members of the first generation to spend all of their lives in air conditioned homes. Back in the day we left our windows open in the summer and used fans to stir up a breeze. It was sometimes brutally hot but we learned how to live with it. There weren’t many electronics to run and most families owned a single car regardless of the size of the family. In other words we used far less energy than most people use today. We all too often believe that it would be impossible to live in conditions that were commonplace in the past.

I realize that it would be difficult to revert to the old ways and I don’t necessarily think that we should. What does need to happen is a nationwide investment in finding new and reliable ways of providing energy. When we put concerted effort into reaching the moon we were successful in a very short span of time. We should create the same level of excitement for dealing with climate change. In my day young people dreamed of working at NASA and being part of the space program. The best and the brightest wanted to be part of the action. If we were all to agree that solving the problems that so devastate our planet are just as important we might turn the tide.

My brother was one of those youngsters who walked around with an illustrated book written by Werner von Braun which described a station in space that would house humans. He told people when he was a tiny tot that he was going to work on building such things. He studied hard with the goal of one day achieving something exciting. He has now spent virtually his entire career designing the navigational systems for the International Space Station. What had once been only pictures in his mind became stunning reality.

I feel that it is incumbent upon all of our leaders to accept the facts that scientists around the globe have proven with compelling evidence. My own anecdotal comments about the weather may be false but the data and photographs lead to the same conclusions as mine. I worry when I travel to the western United States and see dangerously dry conditions so unlike what I witnessed in the same places when I was young.

Some people seem to think that climate change is a political football. An entire party appears to embrace the very dangerous idea that it is somehow a made up concept designed to funnel money to particular industries and take it from others. The game that they play is dangerous. It overlooks the possible future of our children and grandchildren. It is a gamble that I don’t wish to make.

A group of Native Americans are waging a battle at Standing Rock. They do not want a pipeline to be built near the Columbia River. They worry about its potential effect on the very water that the people in that area drink. Whether or not their concerns are real or foolish seems to matter little to me. They deserve to have a say over what happens to land that once belonged wholly to their ancestors and was taken away by people who somehow thought their claims were invalid. We have treated our native peoples with gross disregard for far too long. We have ignored their traditions and dishonored the animals and the environment. They have been right more often than not as we blithely altered the landscape. Now it is time to hear them out. Theirs is a voice that we should not ignore on both moral and objective grounds.

We are beginning to understand the error of our human ways but there are still those who have managed to convince themselves that we are entitled to the fruits of our planet without consequence. The time for such thinking should be long past. It is too dry in some places and too wet in others. The extremes that we see in weather should not be reproduced in our political landscape. I long for true leaders who will educate the public rather than pander for votes. Our fate depends whether or not we are able to finally take the necessary steps to save us all. 

Fire

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

fire-generic-750xx724-407-0-38When my youngest brother, Pat, announced to our mother that he wanted to become a firefighter I suspect that she believed that he was just going through an adolescent phase that would soon enough pass. She told him that she would not give him her blessing to enter the Houston Fire Academy until he had first earned a college degree, a requirement that he dutifully completed. With his diploma from the University of Houston in hand he returned to her once again to announce that he had applied to become a candidate for the Houston Fire Department. This time he was only informing her, not asking for her permission. Shortly thereafter he began his training and was so taken with the lessons and skills that he learned that he graduated number one in his class. It was a proud day for him and all of our family when he earned his badge and a job at the downtown Houston Fire Station Number One.

Pat threw himself wholeheartedly into his work and it was not long before there was a major fire in the downtown area that was so large that it made the nightly news and there in a photograph for the ages stood my brother aiming a stream of water at a wall of red flames that dwarfed him. The image showed his back with his last name emblazoned on his jacket. It was a frightening reminder of just how dangerous his job really was. As a family we tried not to think too much about the kind of things that might happen to him but again and again there were reminders that firefighters literally place their lives on the line each time that they respond to a call for help. They never quite know what kind of situation awaits them and for the most part they rarely discuss what they have seen with those of us who would rather not be reminded of the dangerous possibilities.

Pat was as happy with his career as anyone that I have ever known. He spoke glowingly of the brotherhood and friendships that he shared with his crew members. He proved his mettle as a leader and began to work his way up the ranks, eventually becoming a Captain at one of the neighborhood stations. It was apparent that his men loved him as much as he loved them. They became a second family for him in an environment where he felt confident that he was living his dream.

He returned to school first to earn an advanced degree in Public Administration and then another in Fire Safety. He became such an expert in his field that Mayor Lee Brown tapped him to become the director of the Fire Academy. It was a post that he cherished because it allowed him to share his expertise with young men and women who were as eager to serve as he had always been. He upgraded the rigor of the training process with an eye to preparing his charges for the special demands of being a first responder in one of the nation’s largest cities. It was a very happy time for him but before long he was moving into other arenas of leadership.

He became a District Chief and then a Regional Chief. He helped to investigate fires and to set and maintain high standards for all of the firefighters in the city, all the while humbly doing his work without mentioning his ever growing status within the department. He was always far too busy working for the betterment of Houston to brag about his accomplishments but the men who had worked for him often whispered their admiration.

One of Pat’s most exciting moments came when he accompanied a group of Houston firefighters to New York City on the occasion of the opening of the 9/11 memorial. They traveled by motorcycle all the way from Houston and then participated in a parade in downtown New York. He was so moved by the stories of bravery that he heard from comrades from all around the world. It was a grand moment in which he truly realized the importance of his work and stood shoulder to shoulder with people who understood the unique challenges and joys of being a firefighter.

I can’t imagine what kind of courage it must take to don the heavy equipment of a firefighter and hop onto a truck for a ride to an unknown disaster. On any given day our firefighters know that they may walk into situations from which they will never return. Even in the best of circumstances they often experience damage to their lungs from the continual exposure to smoke. They may fall from the rafters of an attic or have a ceiling come down on their heads. They encounter life and death situations over and over again and are only able to relax once they are safely back at the station. Still they eagerly report to work again and again just as Pat has always done.

Pat Little has served the City of Houston with pride and enthusiasm for thirty six years. He has tirelessly worked during hurricanes, floods, freezes and even when he felt sick. On some nights the alarms awakened him so many times that he had little sleep. There were Thanksgiving and Christmas days when he was faithfully executing his duties while the rest of us were relaxing and celebrating without him. Missing even a single day of work was always anathema to him. He rarely complained when he had to be absent for the milestones of his children or when he had to forego special occasions because he was saving a life. Now his outstanding and selfless career is finally drawing to a close. On Sunday his crew is hosting a party for him and on October 11, he will retire for good. He will be remembered and revered by both family and fellow firefighters for the joy and dedication that he brought to his job for all of those thirty six years. I have little doubt that given the opportunity he would gladly relive his life as a firefighter all over again.

Congratulations, Chief Patrick Little, on a job well done. We are all proud of you and humbled by your quiet courage and your unflagging determination to make a lasting difference in the world. You have done well in a world that is all too often marked by evil and greed. You are our hero, a man who has shown the meaning of service.

Tree

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

tree1024x1024There is a tree in Rockport, Texas that has been growing in the same spot for centuries. Some wise soul thought to save the old oak forever by declaring it an historical treasure and building a fence around it. People travel from all parts of the world just to stand under the shade of the sprawling limbs and to marvel at the girth of the ancient trunk. They snap photos of the wondrous image and try to imagine what the old tree has seen in its time on this earth. If only it could talk we might hear of native people pausing under its branches to rest after a day of hunting and fishing or learn of explorers from Spain who traveled along the Gulf Coast searching for cities of gold. Did the tree once see vast flocks of whooping cranes wintering in the area in their annual journey from Canada? How did it manage to withstand the forces of tropical storms and punishing hurricanes? What is its secret to long life?

We humans have love/hate relationships with trees. We plan trips to Vermont in the fall to marvel at the glorious colors of leaves but also cut down beautiful specimens to make way for factories. We plant trees in the yards of our new homes that once sat in forests that we eliminated to build our suburban communities. We enshrine trees in metaphorical poetry even as we topple them in real life. We use them for our own whims often forgetting that they are helping to provide the very oxygen that we breathe. They cool us and shelter us and we all too often take them for granted. When we flee from natural disasters we abandon them to bear the brunt of wind and water and fire.

Along the Big Thompson Canyon on the road leading from Loveland, Colorado to Estes Park is the dead stump of a once mighty tree. It is bent and gnarled into a contortion created by the power of the river that took homes from their foundations and turned nature’s bounty into piles of rubble. Somehow that tree has become a work of art. Its determination to hold fast to the rocks in which it once grew is a testament to its strength and flexibility. It stands as a sentinel as rugged as the huge boulders along the face of the canyon. It has somehow withstood the onslaught of both nature and humans.

We personify trees. They teach us lessons. We track our human history in their branches. We have a special kinship with trees, especially when we are hot and weary. We sit under their branches cooling ourselves and dreaming of futures that we may never see but they are more likely to enjoy. Trees remind us of ourselves as they travel along with us through the seasons and the years. They are our silent partners in a lifetime journey.

My paternal grandmother was a child of nature. Her father and her grandmother are buried in a national forest in Arkansas where their homestead once resided. It seems fitting that her ancestral home is now protected and allowed to return to a wild and unfettered state. She so loved to walk in the woods under a canopy of trees that sheltered the birds and critters that she enjoyed. When she died my grandfather handpicked a spot in the cemetery that sits under a grove of oaks whose limbs reach gracefully over her final resting place. She would have loved the serenity of the area. In life she marveled at nature’s wonders and seemed almost to be a mischievous sprite as she wandered in the forest behind her farm naming every tree, plant and bird that crossed her path.

Hanging on the wall at the entrance to my home is an image of an enormous tree spreading its limbs across a landscape of green. I have placed it there to welcome my guests and to remind myself of the glories of the natural world. The painting calms me and makes me smile. Gazing at it takes me to my roots. I think of the people whom I never met who had to live in order that I might now exist. Like the tree they once began with a tiny seed and then reached to the heavens with their dreams, becoming ever stronger with each new branch. I know their names but not their stories. I can only imagine what their lives had been based on what I know about the places where they lived. I wonder what they would think of me and the world in which I exist. I suspect that they would be happy that things have turned out as well for me and my extended clan as they have. After all, each of us wants the best for our children and grandchildren. We want to know that they will be safe.

One of my favorite books is Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree. I have presented it as a gift many times over. I never tire of its story of unconditional love and sacrifice. I have now travelled through almost seven decades from the time when I was born. I have been the child, the teenager, the young adult, the middle aged individual and now the old person described in the tale. I have known both the exuberance and the drudgery of life, sometimes forgetting the people who have brought me to the place where I now linger. Like all humans I sometimes take my blessings for granted and even abuse the kindnesses that have been shown to me. I forget to be thankful and to simply enjoy the shade and the sound of the wind whispering through the leaves of the tree of life.

Trees keep me optimistic. They remind me that there is a continuity in this world that is bigger than our individual human efforts. We may falter and even become a bit full of ourselves but the ebb and flow of life remains essentially the same. We all benefit from being a bit more like trees. It is important that we “Stay grounded. Connect with our roots. Turn over new leaves. Bend before we break. Enjoy our unique natural beauty and keep growing.” (Joanne Chaptis) If we remember these simple rules we will surely find more of the contentment that we seek, especially in a world as seemingly mad as the one that we now face.

That tree in Rockport has seen more than we might ever imagine and still lives on. There is something rather nice about knowing that it is there and will be even when we are gone. Like the giant sequoias of Yosemite, the groves of Aspen in Rocky Mountain National Park and the countless shady lanes that soften the highways and byways across the land trees are the constant that we all wish to be in the world.