My Towns in Ruins
On Wednesday, April 27, 2011, Ringgold, GA, my little Southern town, like many other little Southern towns that day, met the reality of a E-4 tornado. Because the core of the town is very close to Interstate 75 about ten miles south of Chattanooga, the damage is very visible to all on their way to or from Atlanta or Florida. But what is visible from the interstate is nothing compared to what is about a mile deeper into town. I just saw it all for the first time yesterday, and I am speechless, wordless. Sure, I could use all "d" words--destruction, demolished, disaster, devastation--but those have all been used. I have never lived anywhere that experienced that kind of natural disaster, and any times I visited sites such as this, it was well past the time. I saw Katrina areas three years later; I saw Cayman Islands a year after Ivan. Not the same.
Houses and business in piles, with circles of orange spray paint on the wall that is left, some kind of cryptic message that the house has been checked for corpses and was found, or not, free of them.
My son's schools, where he spent seven years of his life, unusable for a long, long time.
The tiny branch of the Catoosa county library, where my son used to go after school until we could pick him up, and where he became friends with the kind librarians, and was amused by the younger children who lived in the area and hung out there after school; the library that had been converted into a state-of-the-art art facility and named after a beloved superintendent. Even though it was brick, it is now just a pile that represents many good memories.
The former phone company building, now DFACS offices, beyond repair, it looks like. Perhaps not, but hard to imagine it being a place for help again.
A little restaurant that was immortalized in a novel--caved in.
An African American church, not beyond repair, but symbolic of what folks are dealing with.
Many businesses and homes that sustained the loss of a roof, covered in blue tarps. A grocery store and car dealer with signs letting us know, "We're in Business." Even if that is profit-driven, it lifts the spirits a bit.
Twisted poles and awnings on gas stations that may not be opened again. Fast food places with plywood windows. Several hotels that looked as if a giant stepped on them.
And one of my favorite places to go, Sew-Bee-It quilt store on Highway 151. It's a back wall now. I can't imagine where all those luscious fabrics and quilts went. I think that hit me the worst because I didn't know about it, and it was not just a store, but a place of community and learning.
Beyond that, what bothers me the most is the lack of trees. Beautiful oaks sheltered the town. Now it truly feels like the land has been violated. It doesn't feel like a town in Southern Appalachia, but one by the beach or the desert. The creek that runs through town is full of fallen trees. Other trees just fell over; others landed in parts unknown, others had tops removed.
However, it is pointless to mourn the loss of trees and buildings when so many people died, when children found family members under rubble, when a girl was thrown into a tree far away, when kin found legs or arms separated from their loved ones.
All one can do it take periods of mourning, and try to provide help. I hope to do so; I have things people can use. I have money; I have a little time. None of that means a great deal in all that is lost, but it means something. Please help the Salvation Army, Red Cross, and Southern Baptist Disaster Relief.
Houses and business in piles, with circles of orange spray paint on the wall that is left, some kind of cryptic message that the house has been checked for corpses and was found, or not, free of them.
My son's schools, where he spent seven years of his life, unusable for a long, long time.
The tiny branch of the Catoosa county library, where my son used to go after school until we could pick him up, and where he became friends with the kind librarians, and was amused by the younger children who lived in the area and hung out there after school; the library that had been converted into a state-of-the-art art facility and named after a beloved superintendent. Even though it was brick, it is now just a pile that represents many good memories.
The former phone company building, now DFACS offices, beyond repair, it looks like. Perhaps not, but hard to imagine it being a place for help again.
A little restaurant that was immortalized in a novel--caved in.
An African American church, not beyond repair, but symbolic of what folks are dealing with.
Many businesses and homes that sustained the loss of a roof, covered in blue tarps. A grocery store and car dealer with signs letting us know, "We're in Business." Even if that is profit-driven, it lifts the spirits a bit.
Twisted poles and awnings on gas stations that may not be opened again. Fast food places with plywood windows. Several hotels that looked as if a giant stepped on them.
And one of my favorite places to go, Sew-Bee-It quilt store on Highway 151. It's a back wall now. I can't imagine where all those luscious fabrics and quilts went. I think that hit me the worst because I didn't know about it, and it was not just a store, but a place of community and learning.
Beyond that, what bothers me the most is the lack of trees. Beautiful oaks sheltered the town. Now it truly feels like the land has been violated. It doesn't feel like a town in Southern Appalachia, but one by the beach or the desert. The creek that runs through town is full of fallen trees. Other trees just fell over; others landed in parts unknown, others had tops removed.
However, it is pointless to mourn the loss of trees and buildings when so many people died, when children found family members under rubble, when a girl was thrown into a tree far away, when kin found legs or arms separated from their loved ones.
All one can do it take periods of mourning, and try to provide help. I hope to do so; I have things people can use. I have money; I have a little time. None of that means a great deal in all that is lost, but it means something. Please help the Salvation Army, Red Cross, and Southern Baptist Disaster Relief.
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