A Veteran's Journey

A “Chance” Meeting?

Last week, a group of us Rebuild volunteers completed rebuilding a porch in Gainesville. We had rebuilt the front porch a couple of weeks earlier but couldn’t finish the one in the back because the lumber store didn’t deliver materials on time.

So, we rescheduled.

The day before we completed this project, my wife received a call from CarePortal (another great organization that helps those in need). There was another project a couple of counties over that needed some additional funding (i.e., lumber) so the volunteers on that project could complete a handicap access ramp.

It’s the same type of project we do.

It just so happens that because of the mix-up in lumber delivery on our project, we had a lot of leftover wood for their project.

I made a couple of calls; the Rebuild folks said “absolutely” to giving this new project whatever leftover wood we had over. We just needed to transport it.

I have a truck!

A couple of more calls, and we were set. I picked up the leftover lumber and supplies (my workout for the day) from the Gainesville project, loaded it into my truck, and headed out to Cross City (two counties over; a little more than an hour’s drive).

About 20 minutes from my destination, I found myself in a little town called Trenton—been there many times for both work and for volunteer projects. There’s one traffic light at the intersection of two highways.

It was homecoming weekend for Trenton High School. The roads were blocked with police at every intersection within the town (count 8 streets across the highway south & 6 streets north).

So, like everyone else, I parked and waited … and waited … and waited. I checked my Facebook, Instagram, and Bluesky accounts.

In my rear-view mirror, I spotted a semi-truck cab doing a U-turn behind me. He turned north onto one of the side roads.

Hmmm.

I followed him down the back road and finally found a crossing.

Thank you, Sir Semi!

I was finally moving again (Cue, Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again.”)

When I met the man who was going to build the handicap ramp, he was wearing a Vietnam Army Veterans’ ball cap. I was wearing my USS Kitty Hawk ball cap. We’re about the same age (“seasoned,” as I typically call it).

We unloaded and stacked the lumber (my truck rose a couple of inches) and we talked.

He’d lived in Steinhatchee (a city on the Gulf Coast about 20 minutes away) but was flooded out by last year’s hurricanes. He had to move and had just relocated to Cross City. I mentioned my work with ERT (Early Response Teams) last year in Steinhatchee (our teams made a dozen trips between October last year and February this year).

We knew many of the same people, though he and I had never met.

Over the 17+ years he’d lived in the area, he and his crew had built more than 100 wheelchair ramps. Our crew in Gainesville has a lot to catch up, but the point is that we were both veterans (him, Army and me, Navy) and we both were doing this type of volunteer work.

I tell you this for a reason.

I’m a strong believer in “Fate,” whatever that means.

My Dad

I worked as a design engineer (electronics) for Harris Corporation down in Melbourne, Florida back in the mid-80s. After about 4 years, I felt a need to do something different.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved what I did—I was a software/firmware design engineer and wrote a lot of code for several high-tech projects.

But I wanted to get involved in hardware design. The only problem was that our department had a lot of work; I was good at what I did, and if I switched, I’d need to train someone to do what I did, and someone would need to take time to train me.

There wasn’t time.

I’d been taking distance learning courses from the University of Florida, working toward my Master’s Degree in Engineering. Don’t laugh, but back then, they’d ship a few VHS tapes down to us for class.

One night after dinner and after the kids were in bed, Becky and I were on the couch. She knew I needed a change, but neither of us knew the answer.

Why don’t we move back to Gainesville? I can get a job at the hospital (Becky’s an RN) and you can finish school to get your Master’s. Your mom and dad are there, so it would be good for the kids to spend time with their grandparents.

That was in February 1988.

In May 1988, my father was diagnosed with cancer. We were able to spend his last year together.

That was my first “personal” introduction to fate.

ERT

I’ve mentioned this in previous posts, but several years ago, in October 2016, Hurricane Matthew struck the east coast of Florida from the Atlantic Ocean.

My sister, Anne, and her husband, Tom, lived alongside the St. John’s River in St. Augustine. Over the years, they had more than once experienced hurricanes. They were far enough inland that they weren’t that affected … that was until Matthew.

Hurricane Matthew made landfall with a vengeance: high-tide and storm surge. Even though their house was several miles from the coastline, it stood about 20’ from the river’s edge. Eventually, the storm surge pushed the water back, first covering their dock, then taking the dock out, then over the bulkhead, then under the house, then into the house.

Anne was over here in Gainesville with us (about 1 1/2 hours away); Tom stayed behind to ride out the storm and save what he could. He & Anne talked every 30–40 minutes. At one point, he had to get off the phone. We didn’t know it, but he was holding the sliding glass doors to keep the storm surge from coming into the house.

That worked, but unfortunately, the water flowed under the house and came in through the garage and the front door—about 4-6 inches of river was “running through their house.”

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 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 wall.

Everyone in the neighborhood had water damage. People from outlying areas came over to pitch in, helping to clean out, pack personal belongings, and transport them to a safer, drier place. One of the neighbors—still without power—told everyone to bring something over for their gas-powered grill.

“We’ll have a cookout.”

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

I tell you this for a reason …

I’d never heard of ERT (Early Response Team), but I came to realize that was the beginning of my ERT “journey.”

Fate? Who knows … but it’s one of the things I do now. And it allows me to continue to “Pay it Forward.”

As my tagline states, “Life is a journey, one step followed by another.”

One more thing: so far (fingers crossed) we have not had a hurricane make landfall in Florida yet this year.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

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.