View From a Prairie Home

by Hege Hernfindahl, Columnist

How many of you have turned a friend away who offered to help? I certainly have. The stiff upper lip and the stoic “I can manage it by myself” and the introvert who sometimes just wants to be alone. Yet when someone needs help, people come out of the woodwork it seems. Like when the house of some good friends of ours years ago was hit by a tornado. Total destruction. The only thing left was a hat rack with a hat on it. And their cat. Which was important of course, their pet had miraculously survived.

They had been at work when the tornado hit. This was before social media and instant news, but somehow word got around. By the time we got to their farm place, people were at work cleaning debris. Someone even had started a fire to burn all the multitude of tree limbs and branches laying around. And, of course, there was food of all kinds, hot dishes with potato chips and pickles and lots of bars. And plenty to drink, whether you were thirsty for lemonade or beer. Our friends milled about, shell shocked. And we all hugged them and gave them food and a beer. We stayed until it was dark. Our friends had multiple offers of housing. They ended up staying at the cabin of some friends and eventually bought a place on Lake Minnewaska. What the experience taught me is how people come together when tragedy strikes.

I was reminded of the incident with our friends today. We went to bed last night, not expecting much weather wise. We woke up an hour later as the rain pelted the house and the wind roared and twisted driving pieces of leaves that clung to the window panes. But we have a remodeled and dry basement where we sought refuge and where Nils, our grandson who lives with us this summer, has his bedroom. We sat there for almost an hour, watching the radar on our phones. And then, it was over. We went outside. It was dark so we couldn’t see much, but our house and sheds and gazebo were still standing. There were tree limbs all over, but nothing had fallen on the house. In the morning, we found our grain leg had collapsed, taking with it a grain bin that we luckily no longer use.

Grant took a trip around the grove even before coffee and found eight trees down. A huge ash tree had even split in two. For that one, we will need our friendly tree-removal guy. Nils had just recently bought himself a new (used) pickup. Both his cars were outside and they too were unharmed. But the wind had taken and thrown our chairs and outside table about 50 feet and my garden….Oh, my garden, where I had worked for hours, planting, weeding and putting up extra fences around vegetables which tempt the critters that can go through the outer fences. Where the sweet corn stood in straight rows just one week from harvest. Where the carefully laid down weed barriers made the whole garden look clean and tidy. All that work. Gone in less than an hour. Flat.

Then I thought of the big picture. That we were all ok. That our house was intact. Our dog was ok. And that all the other material things were intact. But not my garden. Or my roses. Torn off. The crops. Probably mainly gone.

So what did we do? We called some friends. And they came over. And we talked and laughed and worked until it was too hot to be outside. And inside, we still had power and air conditioning. With friends by our side, we viewed the garden. It isn’t that bad. Most vegetables will survive. It no longer looks pristine. But who cares?  The rose bushes will produce more roses. And who knows, maybe the crops that are left will have good yields.

It is always good to be with friends. It is not a sign of weakness to ask for help. And with friends by our side, the world seems less bleak.