Below are some disjointed and rambling words I wrote last night to describe my thoughts and feelings in the aftermath of the tornado that swept through my little hometown of Ringgold, Georgia. After that somewhat incoherent introduction, I hope you will let me share a bit of the best and worst of the life here in stricken Northwest Georgia.
Many of the scenes you probably saw are just down the street from our home. Poor Jack, our dog that died, may well have saved David and Shane’s lives (youngest and oldest sons). The owner of the house would not rent to them because he didn’t want Jack, the dog, and David refused to give him up. They would have been living in a house in the very middle of the worst hit area otherwise. It takes almost 2 hours to get to our house from the interstate. We live approximately five miles from the interstate. Going home to check it out tomorrow. My hometown is now full of unemployed people because almost every business is shut down. Except the tree services. Going to try to give blood tomorrow. Ad rem, we got the doggies lots of food and gallons of water. Chris carried it up tonight. Will take more tomorrow. The next road over, on the other side of the ridge, all the trees are just gone. Toothpicks sticking up out of the ground – no sign of the full green leaves they were bearing. I live in a series of ridges, steep, steep hills, one folding over another, all wooded and bursting with the brilliant green of rich Georgia spring. Now it is blood and mud and devastation, lost lives, ruined lives, people digging in the mud to find something to wear. As I said earlier, I don’t think God favors us, but I was sure praying for Him to spare Chris and our home. Now I feel confused and bad for those who lost so much, when I have everything. My heart hurts. The beauty around me, so long a part of these magnificent Georgia hills, fought over several times, it’s gone. My tiny little spot of heaven sits in the middle of hell almost. Guess I am being dramatic tonight. I keep in mind what happened to Alabama (we normally call it Ala damn Bama) and I know it could be worse. This picture is from the foot of my driveway, around the corner from where my five neighbors died.
That’s the end of my rant from yesterday. Now for my rant from today. Are you lost yet? Don’t worry, you are in Georgia now. You’ll circle around these hills and come out okay. If not, stop on in with somebody resting on their front porch (Georgia women are big on porches, especially front porches so we can know what’s going on) and have a glass of ice cold tea. Don’t bother asking for sweetener. You ask for tea down here, you’re gonna get sweet tea.

Today I went home. Still no power, but the power company has been up my quarter mile long drive and cut the tree, getting the power lines off the ground. The actual menagerie, that would be Katie, Bo, and Riley, were so glad to see me. Where have you been, they seemed to say? We spent the night alone here. It was scary, but not as bad as that terrible night. I miss them, my precious dogs.
I then took a drive around the small valley (really just a hollow between ridges), or at least as much as I could get to. The police are a heavy presence in Ringgold. I was turned away from the Cherokee Valley area, one street over, by an  Animal Control Officer. Everyone with a badge has been enlisted in the effort to keep our community as safe as possible, by turning away lookers, and hopefully potential looters. I can no longer drive directly to my home, but must take a winding route to avoid the devastated and restricted areas. Yep, it’s an aggravation.
Which brings me to a sad part of this story. Lots of gripes from some people (I started to say folks, but Obama has ruined that word for me). Most of what I heard on talk radio today was, you ain’t gonna believe it, complaints from people who are mad that they missed The Royal Wedding because their power was out, or because they may not have cable anymore. BIG stink among some who were offended when the show host suggested they get a life, a statement I wholeheartedly agreed with, but felt WeeWeed would have expressed more eloquently.The same broadcaster talked about flying over the path of the tornado yesterday, from the Davis Ridge area, over the interstate, through downtown, out Cherokee Valley, Salem Valley, into Apison, Tennessee, out through  McDonald, and into Cleveland, Tennessee, a path the GPS recorded as twenty eight miles. To try to cover all the bad in one paragraph, let’s move on. I am sorry to say some looters have gotten through and have been robbing the stores and homes downtown, which leads me to believe they were locals, because this town is shut down, locked up, and impenetrable unless your Uncle Claude carries a badge AND you are in his presence. There is speculation that the scum sucking snake bellies may try to return for the copper and metal they can salvage from the walls and wreckage. People are testy about having their movement restricted, especially those of us who live here. I see it as the least of our problems, and if it keeps the roads cleared for rescue workers, utility trucks, and those in need, and keeps what little is left safer, well, I can drive around.
Today I went to give blood. While waiting, I heard a conversation that gave me the idea for this story, and it’s title. I have seen many pickups towing trailers with four wheelers, and I knew they were being used the first days to try to get into blocked areas where fallen trees or debris kept the trucks and other vehicles out. Several men were casually talking about their chainsaws, which they were keeping in their trucks and trunks. Mostly trucks. Georgia and Tennessee men are big on trucks. But I digress (Thanks, Tilda!). They had spent time yesterday and today driving around to find downed trees blocking roads, driveways, on houses, or in the yards of people who had no help. They had just loaded up and started working, wherever they found a need, not just these two men, but many, from our area, and some from farther away.
I took water to the grocery store where they are collecting food and water. There was a bottled water mountain in the parking lot, a sharing from those who have a little bit, to those who don’t. There was a remote broadcast from the local radio station at the store, and they were taking cash donations. As I approached, I watched people who could not have much to share, share and share generously by their abilities.
Restaurants are taking food down, not just for volunteers, but for those in need. Churches are ministering in unusual, but very needed ways. One church has opened it’s doors to the public for meals, and told them to bring their cell phones to be charged, so that they can stay in touch. Kinda neat, I thought, just a little thoughtfulness and a simple way to help.
People have opened their home, their pocketbooks, their hearts. And as is the way of humanity, other people have opened their devious and criminal minds to ways to profit from misery and death.
There is talk of the massive work of rebuilding, work that stretches months and years before us. There is hope in the talk, speculation of job prospects, men who long to go back to their construction jobs thinking they may have some prospect of future employment. Women dreaming of getting that front porch replaced so that they can keep an eye on goings on, and serve cold, sweet tea to anyone who wanders up for a spell.
I love you, my Georgia home. God keep and protect you as your sons and daughters work to make our homes here again.
To my three sons, if you read this. Those wonderful men who gave me the idea for this article, and whose work ethic, and concern and care for their neighbors was so evident, sat in the only chairs and left a young pregnant woman standing, and another woman sitting on the floor. Remember your raisin’ boys. I believe you still give up your seat to the elderly, the infirm, ladies, especially pregnant ones, heck to anybody whose isn’t a big strong guy like you. But I’m watching. Be gentlemen. Or the closest facsimile you can muster.
And thanks to my very good friend WeeWeed for this. It made me smile.