Midst all the warspeak from Obama, (plus the U.S. Congress stalling with a budget that will provide services American taxpayers have already paid for (!)), there came a flood of Biblical proportions--at least to the people caught in its rampage.
Colorado is one of those states in America where the sheer geographical beauty makes one believe that we are more than just "meat"...we have souls that sometimes can hear the Universe's song. It is not, simply, the pure mountain air. It is the forests; the wildlife; the plunging rivers; the weather that will always reign. Colorado keeps its citizens in awe--and in humility. If they forget that Nature always wins, in the end, they often forfeit their lives.
I have many friends in that mountain state. Some are wealthy. Some are famous. Some are outdoorspeople who have fled the tediousness of the city. Many are skiers, bicyclists, river rats, backpackers, hunters and fishers. Some prefer climbing the peaks; some prefer scrambling over boulders; some simply hike the bracing paths, counting birds and butterflies. All of them drink coffee; breathe deeply and wouldn't trade their geography for anyplace else on Earth.
The Colorado citizens I know have learned to create community--whether it be in the larger pockets of civilization, such as Denver and Boulder, or the tiny mountain villages past eight thousand feet. They know how to operate generators; how to fill the bathtub with extra water when it storms--in case the power goes out--so they can flush the toilets, etc. They share provisions; watch out for their elders; keep an eye on each other's kids and pets. They get together for local concerts and art shows. They ski cross-country to deliver baked goods and messages. They plow or shovel or simply snow-shoe over the ever-falling white stuff, to stay in communication with each other. No one is left cold or hungry or in darkness in a crisis. Yeah, there is gossip and competition and the human comedy one finds everywhere, but there is also a mountain spirit that supercedes: you must rely on others.
After the terrible wildfires this past year, which ripped through the mountains, finally were contained, Nature, in its powershifting cycle, sent rain. Unfortunately for the humans, there was too much exposed land, now burned and loose, unable to absorb the downpour fast enough. Mudslides, flooding, rivers exploding with debris, loose boulders still charred from the fires, all came running down, knocking apart anything in their path. This included all man-made structures: roads, bridges, homes, schools, cities...
Yes. It was that kind of disaster.
In my friends' village, just a few miles (minutes) from one of the hardest hit towns, they hunkered together. Her husband is a techie and miraculously kept the village connected to the outside world...somehow. Word got out among the survivors. My friends' home became "communications central". They hosted everyone who could hike up to their house--offering what coffee and provisions remained--and power to recharge electronics. They offered sporadic internet service and towels. They offered news from off the mountain and messages sent to panicked loved-ones everywhere. Mostly, without being asked, they offered solace. Community. Brief respite, even as the waters continued to thunder down.
I received some of those messages. I caught first glances of the destruction. (Having been in wildfires in the west, myself, and not a few flashfloods, I was unprepared for the absolute clout of this disaster!) Even as my friends begin to struggle upright, now, getting support from National Guard and FEMA and Red Cross, the destruction is soul-numbing. Whole towns have almost been washed away. Infrastructure which allows human life up and down the mountains won't be replaced for...well, no one knows. It may take years. Roads, power lines, schools, homes, businesses--all scrubbed from the mountainside. Sanded down to the roots. What took generations to build has been wiped away--again demonstrating how tenuous human hold is upon this planet.
Even writers who live there are barely able to scratch through the haze of disbelief. No adjectives are left. Nothing prepared them for this kind of disaster. No tornado footage nor western wildfire coverage nor even the great blizzards they contend with every year. Nada. So, they try to capture the living history of neighbors crawling through mud, just to reach ground to breathe. Or the memory of a town Patriarch, caught in bed, as his house was buried with him inside it. Or making small pots of coffee on a rain-sodden deck, using the last of the bathtub water and propane, trying to find a bit of humor in the mundane, even as Heaven raged around them.
There is a disconnect in this country this year. Something has shifted. Perhaps it is the lack of willingness to admit the economic severity of the Great Recession--or its impact on everyone from the middle down. The rich have a false sense of safety; making decisions that seem to only strengthen their position. What they don't realize is that America was made by its poorest masses. Its struggle was what gave it position in the world. Hope was its greatest "national product"; its greatest "sell". Colorado and its people, still trapped, may feel minimized in the headlines, but they are not forgotten. Their communities have learned what communities the world over know: in the end, wealth does NOT save you. In the end, we are in this together--with or without our government. Common individuals are who make America great. We have to reach out to each other.
If the disaster in Colorado teaches me anything, it is simply that.
Colorado is one of those states in America where the sheer geographical beauty makes one believe that we are more than just "meat"...we have souls that sometimes can hear the Universe's song. It is not, simply, the pure mountain air. It is the forests; the wildlife; the plunging rivers; the weather that will always reign. Colorado keeps its citizens in awe--and in humility. If they forget that Nature always wins, in the end, they often forfeit their lives.
I have many friends in that mountain state. Some are wealthy. Some are famous. Some are outdoorspeople who have fled the tediousness of the city. Many are skiers, bicyclists, river rats, backpackers, hunters and fishers. Some prefer climbing the peaks; some prefer scrambling over boulders; some simply hike the bracing paths, counting birds and butterflies. All of them drink coffee; breathe deeply and wouldn't trade their geography for anyplace else on Earth.
The Colorado citizens I know have learned to create community--whether it be in the larger pockets of civilization, such as Denver and Boulder, or the tiny mountain villages past eight thousand feet. They know how to operate generators; how to fill the bathtub with extra water when it storms--in case the power goes out--so they can flush the toilets, etc. They share provisions; watch out for their elders; keep an eye on each other's kids and pets. They get together for local concerts and art shows. They ski cross-country to deliver baked goods and messages. They plow or shovel or simply snow-shoe over the ever-falling white stuff, to stay in communication with each other. No one is left cold or hungry or in darkness in a crisis. Yeah, there is gossip and competition and the human comedy one finds everywhere, but there is also a mountain spirit that supercedes: you must rely on others.
After the terrible wildfires this past year, which ripped through the mountains, finally were contained, Nature, in its powershifting cycle, sent rain. Unfortunately for the humans, there was too much exposed land, now burned and loose, unable to absorb the downpour fast enough. Mudslides, flooding, rivers exploding with debris, loose boulders still charred from the fires, all came running down, knocking apart anything in their path. This included all man-made structures: roads, bridges, homes, schools, cities...
Yes. It was that kind of disaster.
In my friends' village, just a few miles (minutes) from one of the hardest hit towns, they hunkered together. Her husband is a techie and miraculously kept the village connected to the outside world...somehow. Word got out among the survivors. My friends' home became "communications central". They hosted everyone who could hike up to their house--offering what coffee and provisions remained--and power to recharge electronics. They offered sporadic internet service and towels. They offered news from off the mountain and messages sent to panicked loved-ones everywhere. Mostly, without being asked, they offered solace. Community. Brief respite, even as the waters continued to thunder down.
I received some of those messages. I caught first glances of the destruction. (Having been in wildfires in the west, myself, and not a few flashfloods, I was unprepared for the absolute clout of this disaster!) Even as my friends begin to struggle upright, now, getting support from National Guard and FEMA and Red Cross, the destruction is soul-numbing. Whole towns have almost been washed away. Infrastructure which allows human life up and down the mountains won't be replaced for...well, no one knows. It may take years. Roads, power lines, schools, homes, businesses--all scrubbed from the mountainside. Sanded down to the roots. What took generations to build has been wiped away--again demonstrating how tenuous human hold is upon this planet.
Even writers who live there are barely able to scratch through the haze of disbelief. No adjectives are left. Nothing prepared them for this kind of disaster. No tornado footage nor western wildfire coverage nor even the great blizzards they contend with every year. Nada. So, they try to capture the living history of neighbors crawling through mud, just to reach ground to breathe. Or the memory of a town Patriarch, caught in bed, as his house was buried with him inside it. Or making small pots of coffee on a rain-sodden deck, using the last of the bathtub water and propane, trying to find a bit of humor in the mundane, even as Heaven raged around them.
There is a disconnect in this country this year. Something has shifted. Perhaps it is the lack of willingness to admit the economic severity of the Great Recession--or its impact on everyone from the middle down. The rich have a false sense of safety; making decisions that seem to only strengthen their position. What they don't realize is that America was made by its poorest masses. Its struggle was what gave it position in the world. Hope was its greatest "national product"; its greatest "sell". Colorado and its people, still trapped, may feel minimized in the headlines, but they are not forgotten. Their communities have learned what communities the world over know: in the end, wealth does NOT save you. In the end, we are in this together--with or without our government. Common individuals are who make America great. We have to reach out to each other.
If the disaster in Colorado teaches me anything, it is simply that.
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