The beginning of "Charcoal, Meat, and Blessings"

Monday, March 5, I had to 'reset.'
Town was still closed. No entry. (Damage was so extensive, power lines were down, water lines were still being shut down, debris was overwhelming and there were understandable concerns about looting). The outlying areas did not have power either, and there were no stores open.
Gripe if you will, but I am a 'dirty smoker.' I know it is a nasty habit, but it is what it is... and I was out of cigarettes. My Dad had already gone through my desk and found the 'emergency pack.' Now, it was a true disaster situation. (Please forgive me for trying to make light of some aspects. Humor is often the only way for me get through some things). We were almost out of coffee and propane on which to boil the water for the coffee. *Disaster Situation* Dad and I needed to head out of town for supplies. We headed for Winchester, KY and Wal-Mart. We stopped at the first store with cigarettes and chain smoked the rest of the way. We talked a lot, but we also had large pockets of silence. While right in the middle of it, comprehension is fought for... understanding of the severity of the situation feels like it just hasn't hit yet.
We gathered our supplies and headed back for West Liberty. When we returned, we had power and internet... for a couple of hours... Those couple of hours allowed me to get online and let folks know I was ok... and to see that I had a LOT of questions from old school friends who moved away and wanted to help, but had no clue how to do so.
West Liberty is one of those sleepy, little towns that the ambitious can't wait to leave. My entire childhood into young adulthood, that was the goal. To "get out." To go somewhere where I could be something. Most of my friends growing up did the same thing. We were spread all over the state and across the nation. I came back - that is another story for another time... But, I was being contacted by so many people with resources and know-how... just no idea what to do with either in order to help. I didn't know, either... and realized perhaps that was my role at that time: Start putting people in touch with each other.
We lost power again Monday night, but were awakened by the power coming back on in the early morning on Tuesday. My former classmates and I started networking. Older and younger siblings of my graduating class were contacting me. I was in the war zone. They were still outside of it, not being allowed entry.
I was struggling with how to accomplish ANYTHING... An online friend suggested I talk with a friend of his from Joplin who went through the same thing... She, in turn, suggested a group called Toomer's for Tuscaloosa (T4T) may be able to offer some advice. I posted on the T4T Facebook page that I was one person wanting to help and did they have any suggestions? A woman replied, "Call me" with her phone number listed. I looked at my screen and thought, "It is 11:30 at night, I do not know you, no way I am going to call. Twenty minutes later, the same woman posted again, "I know you aren't sleeping. Call me." So, I did. That woman was Holly Hart Shirley, CEO of T4T. Within three hours, she had me comforted and on a mission. She created the Crockett/Moon tornado disaster relief page on Facebook. She made me a part of the T4T organization. We were in 'business.'
To make a REALLY long story short, I worked in the Crockett/Moon area those first couple of weeks. Other groups reached out to help, to come cook for the displaced and volunteers, to help tarp, to bring food, to bring supplies... all of it was so amazing. Thursday, the 8th, a group came in from a neighboring county and cooked and brought so much food... their own tables... county officials and ministers to help cook and serve. (I mention these details for a reason - keep them in mind lol)
As distribution centers began tiring very quickly, an incredible woman, her husband, her son, and her daughter-in-law opened up their buildings and land to use as a distribution center. The first weekend, what is now a new group of friends came in from Columbus, OH with supplies and helped set up the distribution point and clothing trailer. A group in Louisville raised $1500 in a matter of hours via Facebook to buy supplies. Truckloads were brought in from other distribution centers. I felt that was where I was supposed to be. The group that had cooked on the 8th contacted me because they wanted to come cook again. They contacted me on the 14th of March regarding the following week. By this point, the relief situation in Crockett/Moon was hard to discern. School was going to be back in session the following week. There was no centralized information source being publicized regarding where relief/distribution centers were or their hours of operation. I told the group I would have to find them a place in West Liberty and would help coordinate having meals driven out into the county into Woodsbend, Ezel, and Crockett as those areas were severely damaged. I kept working in Crockett/Moon and feeling guilty that I would be spending a day in West Liberty the following week.
However, over that weekend, the weariness and exhaustion of the less than perfect arrangement of having their personal space being used for public distribution was showing on the amazingly good-hearted folks I had been working with in that area. We tried to keep going.
I had been publicizing the amazing food the group from the 8th would be back to cook on the 22nd. I arranged for them to grill in the Advance Auto parking lot. I received a text message at 3 pm on the 21st saying they could not make it, but perhaps the next week. I was disheartened. I had told all these people there would be food... and now there would be none. That didn't work for me.
I got on Facebook and started begging for ANY help... any food... explaining the situation. Two angels pooled their money and bought 500 hot dogs and buns. The Bank of the Mountains offered use of their grill... potato chips were donated... we had one day's worth of food for volunteers, workers, and the displaced. It was amazing and humbling... THIS was the beginning of "Charcoal, Meat, and Blessings." I just didn't know that yet.

Charcoal, Meat, and Blessings

I apologize for not having updated... I am working on "Charcoal, Meat, and Blessings," the pet name my zany mind has given the efforts to feed workers, volunteers, and the displaced in West Liberty and Morgan County Mon - Sat. Any and all are welcome to eat. Those who can give put a few bucks in our high-tech coffee can. Those who can't give financially give with a smile of thanks. If you are moved to assist financially in this effort, here is the online fundraiser: http://www.crowdrise.com/morgancountykydisasterrelief. All funds received through this effort are used to feed the masses.
Side note: one day a couple of weeks ago, I sat down at the computer to begin catching up on donation requests and emails from folks communicating needs of areas, individuals, and families. I caught a big whiff of myself. I STUNK after hours of grilling over charcoal and serving over 400 people. I began my Facebook status update with "I reek of charcoal and meat." Before hitting 'enter,' it dawned on me... I reeked of the things I had been absolutely begging folks to donate for days. The Lord does provide... so, I backspaced and made my status the truth, "I reek of charcoal, meat, and blessings."
The continued outpouring of support spiritually, emotionally, and financially has been amazing. I am humbled and blessed to be a part of this.
Also - we are very short on manpower. If you, your group or civic organization would like to be a part of this effort, please contact me at georg.hill@gmail.com.


Thank you!
Georganna

Roots in the Land

Not to be overly dramatic, but the town WAS destroyed. (Over the first couple of days, I heard veterans of war make resentful comments regarding West Liberty being described as "looking like a war zone" post-tornado. This because THEY had seen war zones. They had seen bombed and shot up buildings. That resentment fell quiet and soon to agreement once those veterans saw it themselves.) I felt like a bad tourist, an opportunist, as I held my digital camera up to the window of the bus and snapped as many pictures as I could while we rode down Main Street, then Prestonsburg Street in the renegade bus. In my mind, I was thinking, "Who knows when people are going to be allowed into town? When will it be safe for them to be given access again?" I was already posting on Facebook in my head. It is my firm belief that information dissemination is the most important first step toward rebuilding. Let folks know the ACTUAL situation. For some, it was not even near the worst they could imagine. For others, is exceeded the worst possible. Buildings had collapsed. Random pieces of metal were wrapped around trees. Trailers were gone, but the decks that had been sitting in front of or behind them still stood. Power lines were down everywhere. Headstones were overturned. Nature had vandalized our picturesque town.


We made the trek through town and turned onto 172. We had been stopped three times for verification of our mission. As we rode the 23 miles to Crockett/Moon, my mind wandered. My Grand Daddy (RIP Bernard E. Hill) came from "up" Smith Creek in Crockett. He came from the land and people of the land. When his education couldn't go further than sixth grade there, he found another option in Menifee County and worked for his room and board so he could finish his high school degree. He worked in the coal mines of Pike County. He attained his B.S. from U.K. He 'got out' of the holler. But,he was always, in his soul, that boy from "up Smith Creek." I feel that those roots and such humble beginnings kept him humble his entire life. Grand Daddy was an amazing man. My family still learns to this day of people he helped in any way he could - with request that his name not be mentioned. I am so blessed and honored to be his granddaughter.


My only previous trips up Crockett way had been to go to the Mennonite Greenhouse, per Grand Daddy's request. He insisted that all seeds and seedling plants come from that greenhouse. "Oh, and honey... why don't you stop and get some of that REAL butter?" The last trip to Smith Creek had been for my Nan Nan's burial years before. I didn't have the strength or heart to witness Grand Daddy's burial last year.  I am overly-sentimental I know - and am reminded of this fact often by others. But, my heart hurt. Knowing that Grand Daddy's "people" were also victims and may not be getting the assistance they needed gave me renewed emotional, physical, and spiritual strength.


The buses made it to the 172 Volunteer Fire Department, where we were told we were to take the supplies to East Valley Elementary School (EVES), also in Crockett. We turned back around and unloaded at the school. The volunteers on hand were told EVES was also going to be set up as a shelter. I went to the kitchen to inventory what food was on hand so I could let the folks at Morgan Central Elementary School (MCES) know in order to fill any gaps.


We loaded back up and headed back to West Liberty. As we came over Index Hill, the bus ahead of us radioed back to inform our driver there was a Wal-Mart tractor trailer in the MCES parking lot and there wasn't room to turn around. Our driver started toward the high school. We volunteers did not want to be stuck at another site, so (perhaps crazily - we were running on caffeine and adrenaline) decided we would rather walk the few miles to Morgan Central than be sitting on our hands. We hopped out and started through the IGA parking lot on foot when some of the smarter women flagged over a pick-up truck. It was a small S-10 WITH toolbox. This poor boy was stopped by a bunch of crazy women and asked if he would give us a ride over to the school in the back of his pick up. I should mention it was right at freezing and we were expecting snow. SIX of us piled in the back of that truck and held on for our blessed ride. I wish I knew that boy's name. Was brave of him to do that. I laughed the entire way... looking at us and how we must look to others. Don't mess with a bunch of Appalachian women on a mission! ha ha


As soon as we returned to MCES, rumor started spreading that all the supplies we had JUST taken to Crockett were going to be reclaimed and brought back to MCES as EVES was not a Red Cross sanctioned shelter. My heart broke. My spirit sagged. But, there was work to do. We started helping unload the tractor trailer of generous donations from Wal-Mart. I went around the side of the building to assess storage space for the flats of water and saw a problem. Sitting beside the building, in full view through the cafeteria windows where a lot of people were gathered, were SEVEN kerosene heaters. I mentioned the snow on the way, right? That was like throwing half a peanut butter sandwich into a room of starving people.


I stood beside the heaters and soon a tote of tarps was put beside them. A lady approached me, explaining to me that she lived in town and her house was still standing, but she only had half a roof and no windows. What would happen to the heaters? I told her I didn't know and to please go ask the folks at the Red Cross desk. She did and a Red Cross worker soon came out to see me and inform me that the heaters would be put in storage until needs could be assessed and the heaters distributed according to most severe need. (Snow was falling by that point.) I pointed to the tarps and said, "What about those?" He replied, "Same thing."


My bleeding heart shriveled. Let me say here: I understand The Red Cross is an organization that does amazing things somewhere in this nation. I understand they can't just have a 'willy nilly' approach in distribution. I understand that needs must be assessed, etc. I kept reminding myself of all these things. UNTIL the following happened. Keep in mind, this was my PERSONAL experience and my relaying this story is very much colored by my own thoughts/beliefs/exhaustion at that point.


As I stood there, reminding myself that it was not my decision, the woman who had first approached me about a heater came back out to where I was standing. She said it didn't sound like she could get a heater, but could she have a tarp? I kept to what The Red Cross had said, and watched her face and hopes fall. As she went back inside, I glanced over and saw an authorized individual load TWO of the SEVEN kerosene heaters, then kerosene-filled cans, on to a dolly and help load them into a man's car. The lady asking for the tarps saw this also and looked back at me, then went on inside.


I was crushed. Just crushed. I could NOT be party to that. I reminded myself they had their standards and practices for a reason. However, MY heart and spirit could not take it. I could not be party to that. I knew when I left MCES that day, I would not be back.


***To Be Continued***

The beginning of the "New"

March 2, 2012 seems a lifetime ago. On that date, I did my usual Friday, unemployed, 'woe is me,' sort of routine. We in eastern Kentucky were being warned of severe weather and possible tornadoes. We get those warnings a lot and rarely do they heed any actual danger that comes to fruition, so I baked cookies. (if you know me - that seems completely logical)
I live with my dad (Pa) and step-mother (Pat). He and I were home with the animals. She, in the next town over visiting her daughter and granddaughter. Pa and I had the television tuned to the weather, watching the storm system move toward us. Red cells were covering the region. We lost power JUST as the last batch of cookies came out of the oven. *priorities, people... priorities* I had already melted the butter for the frosting and continued with my task: Heart-shaped, chocolate chip, frosted cookies.
I looked to the living room and through the windows... Saw that the sky was darkening and heard Pa go out the front door. I followed. As he and I stood there, I looked up and saw something I recognized from years before. "Pa, you know what that is?"
"What?" he said.
"THAT is a shelf cloud."
He chuckled, "Well, what is a shelf cloud?"
"THAT is what tornadoes come out of. Time to go inside. Seriously. Inside!"
We came inside to the inner most room with no windows as there is no cellar or basement. We gathered the pups, weather radio, battery-operated lanterns, pillows, and reading material (*priorities*) and settled down to wait out what was surely nothing more than frightening clouds. Then, the phone rang. It was a family friend calling to ask if we had heard from Dave, dad's brother. Reports were that a tornado had swept across Main Street and the surrounding area in West Liberty. Uncle Dave lived just down a hill from Main Street. We had not heard from him and the phone lines had disconnected. 
We sat for two hours, listening to winds and the weather radio. (tangent: during that time, we had an interesting discussion regarding the old black and white, portable television we had somewhere... that needed batteries... and wouldn't it have been useful? realized later that with the new, digital regulations, it would have been useLESS) The lovely, electronic voice on the weather radio kept warning to stay away from "win-dooooes" and telling of a tornado sighted on Liberty Road in West Liberty, KY. Our ridge sits above Liberty Road. We hadn't felt a thing. After it seemed the worst had passed, we had no power, no land line, and no cell signal. We were cut off from the world and frightened for Uncle Dave.
Dad and I gathered the essentials... survival knives, water, and firearms - and headed to town to check on Dave. After getting in Dad's truck and heading down the narrow driveway, we discovered our path was block by what seemed at the time to be one gargantuan Pine Tree.  Plan B: Pat's second vehicle was within walking distance, parked at her brother's house. We set off on foot to the other car. At some point in all this, I had cell signal for just moments in which I sent a text message to Pat and to bestie Val in Richmond, letting them know Dad and I were OK. While en route to the other vehicle, we met Pat's brother. He was fine and had watched the tornado come up over the ridge, further down from our location.
Dad and I drove over Index hill toward West Liberty, where traffic was stopped. There were EMT, Rescue Workers, policemen... a lot of uniformed officers stopping traffic and turning it away. The gentlemen who stopped us told us no one was being allowed in town and he had no other information than that, but to try back in an hour.
Dad and I returned Pat's car to her brother's house, came back to the house, grabbed two hand saws, and went back to the Pine Tree. Now, a month later, the carcass of that Pine Tree looks pretty minuscule. However, at 10 o'clock on a Friday night while waiting to check on the health and safety of a loved one... it seemed pretty massive. I am pretty sure HAND SAWS did not help that perception. ha ha
We finally cut the tree enough to drag it to the side and get by in the truck. Once over Index  Hill, we were again stopped and told there was no entry. I asked if we could get to the hospital on Wells Hill, to check victims for my uncle and the officer replied, "The hospital is gone, too." THAT was when the severity of the situation struck home with me. (As it turned out, it wasn't GONE, but severely damaged.) We asked the officer what our options were regarding information about my uncle. He suggested we could pull over on the Index side of the bridge leading to town and see if we could be allowed to walk in. Dad and I gathered our essentials and prepared to 'go in.' We were stopped as was everyone else. No entry. Period. Frightening does not begin to describe how that felt... As luck would have it, however, a friend of my Uncle's who was an emergency worker of sorts, was walking out of town as we were standing there, deciding what to do. Dad saw him and yelled to him if he had heard anything about Dave. He yelled back that someone had been to check on him and he was fine. The house had damage, but Dave was fine.
We could go home... and did... The house was freezing, but we had a house... a roof... our own beds. First thing Saturday morning, we got up and NEEDED to do something... anything... information was scarce... we just knew something truly bad had happened to our town. I packed my 'bug out bag' (details on the hilarious things that seemed necessary in that moment to follow at a later date) and Pa and I headed for Dave's. Again, no entrance into town. 
We turned around and headed toward Woodsbend and the animal shelter, thinking if there had been a tornado, the animal shelter may need help getting ready/preparing for displaced animals. No one was there when we arrived. We headed back toward town to the home of Vicky Stacy, the director of the animal shelter. As we drove up to her family's home, we saw entire lines of trees fallen... some uprooted... some broken off... the house had been spared. Once speaking with C.K., we realized the damage was wide-spread across West Liberty. His daughter, Jodi, had severe damage as did the rest of Keeton Heights. Rumor was that a Red Cross Shelter was being set up at Morgan Central Elementary School, so Dad and I headed there.
I spent that first day helping move boxes, get the kitchen at the school running to feed hundreds, including the displaced, the homeless, the victims, the volunteers, the workers... I worked alongside complete strangers and folks I hadn't seen in a decade. We did the best we could. After a long day, I went home... freezing... but home...
Sunday morning, I returned to the R.C. Center. Mid afternoon, I heard that Crockett, in the outlying area of the county, had also been hit. Rumors and stories were rampant about people begging for food by the roadside. What was truth and what was exaggerated, I will never know. What I did know was if the tornado that reportedly tore apart the core of West Liberty had also hit Crockett, help was needed there, too. 
I am not sure *how* it occurred... but... two school buses were loaded with supplies and several of us volunteered to go with them to unload the goods once in Crockett. I will never forget that bus ride through West Liberty. 


Ripped. 
Shredded. 
Devastated. 
Beaten. 
Destroyed. 
Crushed. 
Fallen.


I kept waiting for the tears to come... and waiting... as we drew near my 'family church,' West Liberty Christian Church, of which my grandfather, great-uncle, and cousin had each been minister, I saw the worst imaginable: Ruins. Crumbled ruins. Still, no tears.




***to be continued***