A Veteran's Journey

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I’m part of a group of volunteers, commonly known as “ERT.”

UMCOR (United Methodist Committee on Relief) Early Response Teams are often called out soon after a disaster. In Florida, that’s usually a hurricane, flooding, or tornadoes—sometimes they’re all associated with the same disaster.

I’ve been doing this for a little over two years.

Personally, I’ve made more than a dozen trips this year. Most deployments were in September, October, and November. Hurricanes cause a lot of damage and it’s not just along the coast. This year, we’ve seen extraordinary devastation in Western North Carolina and Eastern Tennessee.

What we do is not pretty. It’s hard work. It’s dirty work. It’s certainly not fun. But it is truly one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve had in my life.

Yet… I’m still not sure why I keep doing this.

The Work

After a day of clearing out mud & dirt debris from inside a house, tearing down sheet rock walls, ripping out moldy insulation and hauling outside, working with distraught and often displaced homeowners to help sort out what to keep, what to give away, and what to toss, I can tell you without a doubt that it is physically, mentally, and often, emotionally exhausting.

More than once during these deployments, I’ve stood on the homeowner’s porch, surveying the damage outside the house and just trying to imagine that the water—I’m 6’4” tall—would have been up to my chest, inside the house.

You get so busy doing the work throughout the day, you don’t have time to digest what you’re doing. You just do it. And then… sometime later, it hits you.

It could be on the drive home with other team members. It could be after I get home, clean up, and relax in the easy chair (or lie on the floor to straighten my aching back), it could be relaying the day’s events to my wife, Becky, or it could happen a day or two later.

You know the homeowner has been through a lot since the disaster: every day, cleaning up, moving appliances and furniture out, and trying to salvage what little of their personal effects may remain, let alone find them.

The Moments

That emotional “roller coaster” doesn’t seem to end. I can’t imagine the state of mind they’re in. But when I’m working alongside them (as well as the other team members), I’ve experienced several “moments.”

Two years ago, 11 of us were deployed for a 3-day mission to Fort Myers, 10 days after Hurricane Ian made its destructive path through Florida.

Our team had been assigned to a house, located about 100 feet from the Caloosahatchee River. Mind you, this house sat about two feet above ground… the river had made its way inside the house… about 6” over the three-foot-high kitchen counters… for more than a day. That’s five feet of water.

Furniture from the living room was in the kitchen; all the beds, mattresses, dressers, and TVs had been under water and were still soaking wet. We were hauling appliances, furniture, bedding, clothing, almost everything out to the curb. Emptying the lower kitchen cabinets, every pot & pan, every dish, every small appliance was full of brown, icky water—almost the same color as my strong Navy coffee.

In fact, every house in the entire neighborhood was doing much the same. Volunteers from all types of groups were there, lending a hand.

I was working in a small room. The swirling, relentless water turned everything in that room onto its side. I had to manhandle furniture just to get into the room. My task was to clear out the room and once I got inside, I turned over and opened an old cedar chest.

The homeowner was there alongside me. As I started pulling out sopping wet clothes, sheets, and blankets, she told me to toss them all because they were so damaged. She then reached down and pulled out a pair of jeans.

Although dripping wet, she slowly unfolded them, held them in front of her, and smiled. “I made these myself in high school; musta been 50 years ago.” She looked at me and forced a smile, tears in her eyes. “They don’t fit anymore, but I’m keeping ’em.”

The colorful, “hippy” sewn patches and hand-sewn rhinestones took me back to my high school years. I know my sister had similar jeans during those years.

Speaking of my older sister, Anne…

Where This “Journey” Began

She and her husband, Tom, used to live alongside the St. John’s River in St. Augustine. Over the years, they had more than once hunkered down during hurricanes. They were far enough inland that the hurricanes didn’t affect them as if they had lived directly on the coast. That was… until a few years ago.

While they’d had damage to their wooden dock a time or two during past hurricanes, nothing compared to the unexpected storm surge caused by Hurricane Matthew.

The house stood about 20 feet away from the river. Eventually, the water was not only under the house, but coming in through the front door. It wasn’t pretty.

By the time I got over there the next day, the water had subsided, but was still about a foot deep in the garage. We pulled the carpet, mopped and squeegeed, and got most of the water up off the floor, but there was a distinct waterline about six inches up the walls.

Everyone in the neighborhood had water damage. People from outlying areas came over to pitch in, helping to clean out, pack personal belongings, and truck them to a safer, drier location. One of the neighbors, who was still without power, cranked up her gas grill and put the word out to bring your fridge contents over and we’ll have a cookout.

That’s what friends, families, and neighbors do when disaster strikes.

I knew nothing about ERT at that time, but I have come to realize that was the beginning of my ERT “journey.”

The Work Continues

Two weeks ago, we were over in Steinhatchee, a small tight-knit community on the Florida Gulf coast. A lot of water damage. This was my fourth trip over there since October. I’d previously worked in six houses.

As I drove through the small & bumpy dirt roads, I understood why the locals called this particular location “the war zone.” Debris was everywhere, some remaining six weeks after Hurricanes Helene and Milton. By debris, I’m not just talking about snapped pine trees, blown-over oak trees, brush, and trash. There were upended motorboats, patio furniture in trees, and several UFOs (Unidentifiable Floating Objects) laying about.

I’d seen this before… too many times.

Our small ERT team of six (two men, four women) began our work. The house was on concrete blocks, about two feet above ground. The waterline inside the house was about three feet. We knew what we needed to do and set to it.

In one of the back bedrooms, we removed the sheet rock. It turns out the homeowner had built onto the house several times and, how do I say this… he knew what he was doing, and the rooms were built solid. I hated to have to rip out such fine work, but we knew there was a lot of mold behind those walls.

He and I talked off and on during the day. I’ve learned that sometimes people in these precarious situations appreciate a normal conversation, even with a total stranger. It gives them a brief break from the heartache of trying to piece back together their previous lives. Other times, it’s all they can do just to get through the day.

He told me that as he and his late wife had children, he’d build another room onto the house. Turns out he had three boys: two were teachers. But the youngest… he was in jail. “Got involved with the wrong people.” He wasn’t sure when he’d get out, but he also wasn’t sure where he’d go when he got out. Apparently, they’d had a major falling out before he was arrested.

I tell you this for a reason. Stay with me…

The Why

I was ripping out the sheet rock in one room when I noticed handwriting on the backside of the wall of the adjoining room. I called him over. He looked at the writings, one of which had the names of his three sons. Next to it was a note written by his late wife… something about “this room used to be the kitchen, but we needed another room for our newborn…” dated 40+ years ago.

He stood there for a bit with that long, hard look. As a Navy veteran, I’d seen that 1000-yard stare many times. I knew he was reminiscing about older, perhaps better times. He left and walked over to another room to take a few moments to himself. I had wet eyes, too.

A forgotten time capsule, something so simple, yet so powerful… the memory floodgates opened wide. On top of all that, cleaning up after this disaster and the long-term recovery was just a bit much. He was fine by the time we left, but I know that was emotional for him. It certainly impacted me.

The next day in our Sunday school class, we were studying the gospel of Luke and read through what’s commonly known as the parable of the Prodigal Son. My thoughts returned to the previous day and my conversation with the homeowner. I don’t know if he will welcome his son home—I hope/pray he does.

But I had to ask myself, is this another sign of why I do this?

I Am Not Alone

I’ve had several conversations with other team members about our ERT work. It’s physically hard work and sometimes, when you leave a house that you couldn’t quite finish because of time constraints, and drive home, you know there’s so much more work left to be done. And you ask yourself, could I have done more?

Someone mentioned that because of my service in the Navy and the time I’d spent as a city firefighter, that service to others remains with you. As odd as this may sound, that same team member told me that this was therapy for him.

I think I understand why.

I know my wife, Becky, who’s a retired RN and has been out on ERT deployments with us a few times, will also attest to that fact.

One more thing… I’ll be 70 years old in a couple of weeks. Going out on these ERT deployments with these other volunteers, I’ve learned I’m one of the “young-uns.” I think the oldest ERT member I’ve worked with was in his late 80s… hard of hearing, but my, a non-stop hard worker. Truly, an inspiration to us all and, for me, a new goal in life.

We do what we can… for as long as we can… because we can.

Until we meet again,
Andy

Andy Adkins is a US Navy veteran (’73-77) and the author of several books (www.azadkinsiii.com), many of which are free downloads (PDF, eBook format). He is currently retired and lives in Gainesville, Florida with his wife and life-long soulmate, Becky.