July 18 A Good Samaritan Story
July 17 and 19 hold significance for me. One is my first love's birthday the other is the anniversary of a tornado I was in in 1978. Unfortunately I get the two dates confused and I can't remember which is which. So today I will split it down the middle and tell a story about a whirlwind visitor we had on one of those dates when I was 12 years old.
Daddy, my adorable toddler-niece Mindi whom I was babysitting, and I were the only ones home. The clouds were ominous and growing more menacing by the second. I was holding Mindi as we stood in the kitchen window watching the clouds. The rain started suddenly and poured like a river. Just as quickly the rain changed course and seemed to be pounding horizontally, still heavy like a river. The windows seemed to be heaving in and out. From the window, the view was solid white pounding rain. The visibility beyond the window was zero.
My dad was/is a hyper-vigilant person. It was very obvious that we needed to be in the cellar, but the short run to the cellar seemed nearly impossible in the driving raging rain. When I told Daddy that it looked like the windows were trying to burst, he told me we were going to make a run for the cellar. He grabbed Mindi out of my arms, he grabbed my by the arm and we ran into the pounding rain.
Safely in the cellar, we stood and strained to hear something beyond the rain. It was impossible.
When it became quiet again, Daddy opened the door and stepped out. The house was still standing, but the empty chicken house, which two days before or two days later would have had nearly 20,000 chickens in it, was flattened, and the barns too.
Massive oaks rested across the yard, snapped like toothpicks.
We took it in numbly, saying little, not knowing what to do next. Within the hour our usually quiet farm was crawling with visitors and viewers. Daddy was pleased as punch to show it all off, yet still kind of dazed by the whole thing. I must have been dazed too because I cannot recall what I did or thought after coming out of the cellar.
That night, maybe the next night, a Mennonite man phoned to ask Daddy if some of his people could come out and help clean up the next day. None of us really grasped what that meant. I imagined three or four men coming.
Early, very early the next day, black cars, trucks, and vans started pulling in. There were so many of them that we had to open pasture gates to give them room to park. We stood around like dummies in shock. Overrall-clad bearded men divided up between the chicken house and the barns. It was a scene to behold - almost as amazing as the destruction.
What we didn't expect were the ladies. Plain clothed rotund women, pregnant women, and skinny young women with hair buns and praying caps started piling into the house carrying pies, cakes, casseroles and everything you can imagine to feed the men at lunch time. Women and nursing babies were everywhere in the house.
Daddy, who the night before was in his glory with all the attention, carried himself less confidently that day. That evening as the last black car was leaving the yard - the mess 100% cleaned up, - Daddy revealed his uncomfortability at having been the "different" one. He declared, "I never wanted a beard and a pair of overalls so bad in my life."
Daddy didn't know how to show his gratitude. He thanked them profusely and gave their church a big donation.
Quite a Good Samaritan story, eh?
Daddy, my adorable toddler-niece Mindi whom I was babysitting, and I were the only ones home. The clouds were ominous and growing more menacing by the second. I was holding Mindi as we stood in the kitchen window watching the clouds. The rain started suddenly and poured like a river. Just as quickly the rain changed course and seemed to be pounding horizontally, still heavy like a river. The windows seemed to be heaving in and out. From the window, the view was solid white pounding rain. The visibility beyond the window was zero.
My dad was/is a hyper-vigilant person. It was very obvious that we needed to be in the cellar, but the short run to the cellar seemed nearly impossible in the driving raging rain. When I told Daddy that it looked like the windows were trying to burst, he told me we were going to make a run for the cellar. He grabbed Mindi out of my arms, he grabbed my by the arm and we ran into the pounding rain.
Safely in the cellar, we stood and strained to hear something beyond the rain. It was impossible.
When it became quiet again, Daddy opened the door and stepped out. The house was still standing, but the empty chicken house, which two days before or two days later would have had nearly 20,000 chickens in it, was flattened, and the barns too.
Massive oaks rested across the yard, snapped like toothpicks.
We took it in numbly, saying little, not knowing what to do next. Within the hour our usually quiet farm was crawling with visitors and viewers. Daddy was pleased as punch to show it all off, yet still kind of dazed by the whole thing. I must have been dazed too because I cannot recall what I did or thought after coming out of the cellar.
That night, maybe the next night, a Mennonite man phoned to ask Daddy if some of his people could come out and help clean up the next day. None of us really grasped what that meant. I imagined three or four men coming.
Early, very early the next day, black cars, trucks, and vans started pulling in. There were so many of them that we had to open pasture gates to give them room to park. We stood around like dummies in shock. Overrall-clad bearded men divided up between the chicken house and the barns. It was a scene to behold - almost as amazing as the destruction.
What we didn't expect were the ladies. Plain clothed rotund women, pregnant women, and skinny young women with hair buns and praying caps started piling into the house carrying pies, cakes, casseroles and everything you can imagine to feed the men at lunch time. Women and nursing babies were everywhere in the house.
Daddy, who the night before was in his glory with all the attention, carried himself less confidently that day. That evening as the last black car was leaving the yard - the mess 100% cleaned up, - Daddy revealed his uncomfortability at having been the "different" one. He declared, "I never wanted a beard and a pair of overalls so bad in my life."
Daddy didn't know how to show his gratitude. He thanked them profusely and gave their church a big donation.
Quite a Good Samaritan story, eh?
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 7/18/2007 08:44:00 PM
3 Comments
