Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Mountain Mists and Monsoons

As wonderful as the retreat with Gayle was, by the time it was over, I was exhausted. Richard is fond of reminding me that all change is stressful, whether it’s good or bad. No wonder I was exhausted. I’d been to the hospital twice, Roger’s house, the retreat, and Rachel’s house twice. I had also driven over five hundred miles in my almost-two-hundred-thousand-mile-on-the-odometer van.

When I turned on my phone, I found a message from Richard that the rains had been soaking our home for several days. The prediction was for another nine days of rain, so he wanted to make sure that I got home before dark. I called and assured him that would be no problem.

Well, I took a wrong turn not two miles from the retreat center. It wasn’t long before I began to see fuchsia wildflowers that didn’t look familiar, but you know how flowers are: changing daily -- and I’d been on retreat for two days. With my head in the clouds and a smile on my face, remembering the good times with Gayle, I drove on – until I hit a dead end. Oops! I may not make it before dark, after all. The bad news was that I hadn’t a clue where I was. The good news was that I got to pass the beautiful fields of fuchsia flowers a second time. I did, however, focus long enough to get back on the right route.

I drove through light rain in Atlanta, and in and out of showers until I hit Tennessee. My “almost home” spot was enchanted by pockets of fresh-washed, sun-dappled green and gold, alternating with moving mists. It was such a fitting way to re-enter my mountain reality after a week-end of mysticism and shared memories. It was like being gently awakened from a dream.

It seemed surprising to me that all the houses, horses, fields and farms of Coker Creek remained the same. I floated home and found our Great Pyrenees, our tabby cat, and Richard all lined up on the porch. Richard had made salads. I fed the dog. Richard carried in my luggage. We discussed whether Richard had started building an arc and whether I should begin collecting pairs of animals. Richard reminded me that God had promised Noah that there wouldn’t be another world- wide flood. I was home!

The next day was a perfect pajama day – Rain, rain, rain. Most of the day, I sat in my writer’s room (also called the guest bedroom and playroom, depending on whose here). I read, wrote, and relaxed while it rained, rained, rained. Rachel called in the afternoon to tell me that it’s a good thing we moved to the mountains because parts of Atlanta were flooding.

We slept well that night, in our mountain home, to the sound of continued rain on the trees. It’s easier to sleep when you have flood insurance. You should have heard the insurance salesperson laughing when I insisted on flood insurance for our mountain place. I’ll bet the folks in Atlanta aren’t laughing.

I awakened to bright sunlight the following morning. While drinking my coffee, I turned on the news. Oh my God! There were photos of parts of Rachel’s suburbs under eight feet of water. I called Rachel for assurance that her family and friends are okay. They are.

Rachel reminded me that unlike on the coast, there aren’t boats in every Atlanta driveway to do rescue work. And as Roger pointed out, Atlanta people don’t know that if you have to climb to your attic to escape the floodwaters, you should bring an ax for breaking out if the waters keep rising. I began calling other Atlanta friends. Thankfully, all are okay as long as the locusts don’t start swarming.

My niece’s husband has an Atlanta cousin with children that lost her home. We’ve offered them help, and we’re now putting out pleas for help for others who are displaced. We think we know something about how they feel.