A Jack of All Trades and a Master of None

Before we left campus at the end of October, staff at HQ told us to expect this round to feel much slower than the previous two months spent all-cylinders-firing in Baton Rouge. It was to be expected that free of the high stress environment which simultaneously compelled, strained and nurtured us, we would have far more leisure time to focus on our own development. Hence the unofficial status of Round Two as the “life after AmeriCorps” round.

It’s proven true. We generally work eight to nine hour days. We have access to a full, well stocked kitchen right downstairs – continually supplemented with goodies supplied by the ever generous Methodist women – showers just seconds from our sleeping quarters and deliciously long, full two day weekends. Apart from a few grueling days spent turning churned up, frozen fields of clay into respectable yards­, the work is challenging enough to be satisfying but not exhausting.

This leaves us with quite a bit of time to focus on what comes next. This December will mark the halfway point of our 10 months of service. With only about five months to go, the reality that this program is not in fact an indefinite suspension of normal life is beginning to set in. I’ve always found it odd to be planning the next adventure while still living its precursor, but that’s the way life goes. To stand still is to become complacent, and complacency is a dangerous thing.

It would be wrong to say I have no idea what I want to do next because I have a list a mile long  – but I have no sense of certainty, no compelling cause to devote myself to without reserve, no overarching goal that drives my every action. Some people my age do have these things. Others have energy and a wealth of distracting hobbies. Some have no desire to do anything other than watch YouTube subscriptions. Personally, I want a cause.

I’ve met too many people in these past five months who clearly have a cause emblazoned on their hearts not to want the same for myself. People who travel hundreds of miles or just a mile down the road to do something kind for someone in need. People who sacrifice their weekends, vacation time, and restful retirement to give someone else another chance to have what they themselves are giving up. People who work 80 hours a week so someone who has lost everything can eat Thanksgiving dinner with their family in a safe, warm place that they can call their own. People who after all their labors, after all their own trials and weariness, far from becoming embittered by their efforts will break into goofy smiles and laughter or burst into tears like children who can’t contain their joy as they see smiles on the faces of those for whom they’ve labored. How could I watch something like this and not want to be a part of it?

At least until April 27^th, I am part of it as a small portion of the substantial force for good that is AmeriCorps. However, sometimes – well ok, most of the time – I get so caught up in the doing of whatever needs done that I forget to sit back and think about the deeper meaning behind it. Baton Rouge was an extreme example; many days were at their core a grim, grey grind for the idea of a worthy cause with almost no time to stand back and really let myself feel the why and the who of my labors.

Rainelle is much different. Since our schedule and housing have been so much more stable during this project than during our previous deployment, we’ve had a chance to slow down and take a closer look at what we are doing here and who we are doing it for. Working in such a small community has allowed me to connect on a deeper level with the people we serve and to see beyond their current need to the lives they are fighting to rebuild for their neighbors and for themselves. Natives and non-natives alike have come together to work hard for a period of time in service of something bigger than themselves. While they find fulfillment in their efforts, taking that same ethic of service back to their normal lives as cubicle dwellers, teachers or coal miners brings them just as much joy. The experience has changed my idea of what a successful life of service looks like.

Service isn't necessarily represented by a list of quantifiables - numbers of flooded homes gutted, volunteers coordinated, sheets of drywall hung. It doesn't need to look like a resume filled with accolades attaching your name to the design of lifesaving inventions, orchestration of peace treaties or creation of multi-national non-profits. While these are all worthy achievements, they're not the only or perhaps even the best way to go about a good life. In short, I guess I learned something that to many might seem obvious, but which only experience could teach me. That is, you don't have to save the world to live a good life. You just have to care about the people within your reach, however wide that is. Some days you might only be able to reach down the block, or across the table, and that's ok.

Thanks for following along! Til next time,

Danny

P.S. Most of these photos are courtesy of my teammates. If it's a good photo or if I'm in it, it's probably not mine.

Our team leader Shane removing insulation soaked with 5 month old floodwater from a dark, dank crawlspace. I managed to avoid this job. I'm a little jealous (it's a great story) but mostly pretty cool with it.

Our project on Thanksgiving Day

Carlos mourns the loss of  this painting to the art world. All sorts of strange things washed into this field during the flood, including a full box spring and a ridiculously heavy commercial ice chest from a nearby gas station.

Sky and Lindsey in Tyveks for a morning of mucking and gutting

Hanging drywall is fun. Hanging dryceiling, not so much.

Mark is a park ranger and self taught builder who used his vacation week to come down to Rainelle and help out. He spent an afternoon teaching us how to build a porch.

Jessica moving lumber at the Town Hall warehouse. When you're building 20 homes at once, you don't order wood by 10, 20 or even by the rackful. You order it by the butt-ton. We've moved a lot of lumber.

Devin spending some quality time with a little girl at a local animal shelter's adoption day. All but two of the dogs and 30 out of 45-ish cats found homes, a happy ending for the influx of displaced pets after the flood.

Delta One's Thanksgiving feast. $4.75 per person per day can actually go a long way.

Dmac and Sedrick serving desserts at a community Thanksgiving Dinner the day before

We seeded and hayed the acre of land this and 7 other new homes were built on. There was a sleet storm that day and the entire lot was an ocean of mud. I made a less than voluntary mud-angel on one the steeper hills.

A recruiting event at a local community college. Nobody wanted to talk to us, but at least we looked spiffy.

Ribbon cutting at a moving dedication ceremony for several brand new volunteer-built, donation-funded homes given to flood survivors

Obligatory sunset photo

Is it Christmas break yet?

Country Road

I watched in silence as the fog eased off the mountain, as though the gentle tones of the Methodists' church bells were coaxing the autumnal hills from beneath their misty blankets, urging them to join in the town's worship. It seemed every other car that ambled over the railroad tracks cutting through the coal town's main road turned into the tiny church parking lot. Curious faces turned to look at me shuffling along the sidewalk in my black hoodie and Ihiking pants - an obvious outsider.

Abandoning myself to the spirit of the place, I looked back at the little chestnut church overlooking the town. A young couple was taking photos of their children on the steps as music from the organ spilled out into the street. It was like something out of a storybook. 

The quiet joy pervasive in Rainelle, West Virginia that morning belied the hard fighting spirit of the town's 1,500 residents still reeling from the effects of a flash flood that had swept through the community months ago. Delta 1 made the thirteen hour drive to the heart of Appalachia at the end of October to assist with the ongoing long-term recovery efforts here. We're working with a nearly 50-year-old organization called Appalachia Service Project whose mission is the eradication of sub-standard housing in the Appalachian region. This flood is their first foray into the realm of direct disaster relief.

For most of its existence, ASP has specialized in repairing or rebuilding damaged housing. Here in Rainelle and across other flooded portions of West Virginia, the organization is now building entirely new homes for qualifying flood survivors. Just in Rainelle, ASP plans to complete builds or repairs on 50 homes by Christmas. So far in support of their efforts our team has received power tool training, helped backfill and paint foundations, cleaned up worksites, and built porches. I had the opportunity to teach the rest of the team how to do drywall installation. I learned the process myself during Mike and my's period of "summer slavery", when we had to do 2 hours of bitterly whiny labor every morning before starting our long, lazy summer days at home. Thanks Dad. I'll probably never forgive you for having to dig the electrical trench to the barn, but at least the drywall part makes sense now, I guess.

The natives pronounce the five-state mountainous region's name something like "apple-at-cha" rather than "appa-lay-cha", which was foreign to my Yankee understanding. Pronunciation and the decidedly charming high country accent are not the only difference between home on the East Coast and West Virginia, however. The houses are cozier, the spaces vast, and strangers are warmer. It's odd to think that with the option of so much more space to spread out, communities are tighter here than in the crowded North-East.

I gave up almost immediately on capturing the beauty of this place in photographs. The sprawling mountain vistas are beyond the ability of my ageing smartphone and my own compositional sense to capture, and their impact can't be contained in any simple still image. The magic of the mountains is much more than just the view. To be sure, it feels as though we are walking on the grasping fingers of the earth reaching out to God's embrace, the gnarled backs of North America's ancient tectonic plates ablaze with autumn glory in their quest for the sky. But for all the splendor and rugged purity of West Virginia's relatively unspoiled natural spaces, they serve as a backdrop for the human drama that gives any place its deeper meaning.

To me, the beauty of Rainelle can be found in­ the generosity and genuine warmth of strangers. I can feel it warm my heart as a round of American Honey, courtesy of our new Aunt Peggy Sue, warms my throat. The feeling returns when the same friendly faces at the bar show up at church the next morning, along with the mayor, whom I’d last said hello to at the Dairy Queen across from town hall. I imagine I can see the tangible idea of a simple and satisfying life embedded deep in the rough, creased hands of people who live by the strength of their backs, and in the passion that burns behind bright eyes set in the tired faces of volunteers.

We are set to work here until December 19^th. For some of our team it will be their first experience of Fall, or any real change of seasons. The locals say we may have snow within a week. After two months in a hellishly humid Louisiana summer, I’d forgotten what it meant to be cold. I’m hoping I warm up to the idea soon.

Til next time!

-Danny

New River Gorge, West Virginia