Lost and found

On one of those clammy, gray Gulf Coast afternoons when everything is the color of sunlight through squid, I drove past the Calder Baptist Church. Through the drizzle, I spied the grotesque outline of an up-ended tree, its amputated trunk sunken into the soggy lawn, its roots clawing like arthritic fingers toward Heaven … as if the tree were growing down toward Hell. It was surrounded by limbs, branches, chips from chainsawed trunks and other dismembered extremities of once-living things scattered among traumatized but living trees. The dead among survivors.

Then through the watercolored windshield, I saw the church’s sign. It referred to the Act of God Formerly Known as Rita this way:

LOST: 29 TREES

GAINED: MORE LIGHT

Just as my friend, the Rev. Jim Fuller, intended, it made me think. I’d already inventoried — again and again — my losses: A roof, several grand trees, a chimney, some windows, my fences, my sense of security … but how did I benefit from this disaster? What did I gain?

I gained wisdom. Some things aren’t worth worrying about, and some are. Houses can be rebuilt; homes cannot.

I gained a humbler perspective. Some things are bigger than we humans are, despite our swagger.

(OK, so not everything was warm and fuzzy because …) I gained a sobering view of insurance people. As a group, they’re insensitive and inefficent – at best – because they reduce human suffering to a financial transaction. Worse, they dictate the terms of the transaction.

I gained a sense of community. I met some neighbors for the first time when they stopped to help, or when I knocked on a door to see if help was needed.

I gained several cool garden decorations from someplace upwind.

I gained a better idea of just how long it takes a tree to grow. Too long to cut them down casually.

Finally, by losing significant portions of my property, I gained a firmer footing in the world.