Storytelling, Richwood and Clendenin

I've tried to think of ways to help in West Virginia's flooded areas during these weeks since the floods destroyed so many communities, particularly Clendenin, Richwood and Rainelle. I raised money for one young woman who lost everything, sent donations here and there but I'm not wealthy and it felt like so little.

I was also committed to storytelling events so I couldn't go and volunteer either, and honestly I don't know how much help I could have been with my achy legs and feet. Then the mayor of Richwood sent out a call for artists of all kinds to come to Richwood for one day to share some joy and fun. That I could do! I asked my storytelling friends to join me and three from Ohio responded: Thomas Burnett, Mike Kubisek, and musician Jeanie Creamer.

So Saturday we trekked across the state to Nicholas county. Lots of road repair work was going on as the sides of the roads in some places were washed out, or the opposite banks has slipped down into the roads.

Everywhere along the roads were piles of flood debris and household items destroyed by the floodwaters.

This home was damaged by runoff coming off the mountain behind it, tumbling rocks, boulders, dirt and roots into and around the home. Even though it was high above the river, it could not escape the storm's fury.

Just one month ago we sat here in on the patio of this awesome little home-cooking restaurant on the banks of a small creek that feeds into Cherry River. The water came up, under and around the building, all but destroying it. It was sad to see because the owners had really made this into a well-decorated and maintained place with a good reputation for fine food and service.

Downtown Richwood, quiet on Saturday morning.

We didn't really know what to expect; people there are busy with covering survival needs for many residents so details aren't on their minds. We decided to try setting up in the Sculpture Garden in the middle of town, and see how it went. I also got messages on Facebook inviting us to come up to the Fishing Day being offered for children and anyone who wanted to come at nearby Summit Lake, so that was an option if downtown didn't work out.

When we arrived there were hardly any people around. There were still signs of the flood damage everywhere--piles of refuse, appliances, and other household goods unsafe to reclaim. The only action in town seemed to be at the disaster recovery sites and the post office. We parked and waited to see if more people would eventually show up, but after an hour I'd seen only ten people or so, and they were all headed to the post office.

So when our Ohio contingent arrived, we decided to head up to the Fishing Day. They were just setting up, as it turned out, and we picked out a good spot to set up the pop-up canopy. There was a light breeze blowing off the lake, making it pretty comfortable all day.

We had lots of visitors to our tent. We handed out free windmills, fruit, lollipops, snacks and Mike brought tomato and other other plants to give away, figuring people whose gardens might wash out would need them.

Thomas Burnett telling a tale while Mike Kubisek looks on. The puppets were just waiting for their turn!

And we told stories! People came and sat in the folding chairs or stood outside the tent and listened and laughed. We had children, adults, seniors and babies. Some stayed for one story, some for two or three. A few came back to hear more. Many said this was their first time to hear storytelling. Almost everyone thanked us for being there. It was a good, good day.

I came home feeling like at last I'd done something, and with ideas and plans to go back and do more. I made some good connections there that I will follow up on to bring more storytelling to the area. Sometimes it's the thing we do best that we overlook.

How Larry spent the day--fishing in Summit Lake. No luck but he had a good time anyway.

On the way home we stopped by Clendenin.  One of the first things you see as you get off the interstate is this huge mountain of trash, being guarded against scavengers by a police officer.

On the way into town, more signs of the storm:

Debris in the fence attests to how high the water was. The flag still flies though.

This store was almost completely under water.

Photo from WSAZ-TV

A sign as we entered town thanks volunteers.

My husband had not seen it since the flood. I had see some of the town but had not gone all the way to the library because the destruction was just overwhelming. This time much work had been accomplished toward cleaning up the debris. Most destroyed vehicles were gone; many of the mountains of trash were also gone, and the mud had mostly been washed off the streets.

But signs of the flood were everywhere, most noticeably in the empty houses and buildings. Again few people were in town; those we saw were busy cleaning up around their homes. The old downtown itself was virtually deserted. all of those buildings had been under 8-10 feet of water.

The post office, boarded up, windows broken. Where are people getting their mail now, I wonder?

Downtown, no one stirring on a Saturday afternoon.

The library. Ah, the library. It broke my heart to see it.

Yes, I admit, I cried. So much time, love, money and effort had gone into building up this place, expanding it, adding services and it was well-used by people in an area that included parts of three counties.

Broken windows, mud, boarded up and blocked by a piece of equipment. Inside one dirt-splattered  window I could see a small doll, covered in mud and dirt, laying on the windowsill.

In the street were ladybug paper cutouts the library staff used for crafts and bulletin board decor; now they were dirt-covered dots of color on the ground.

Behind the library, the insurance agency and a garage were also destroyed.

 

But across the street the Butterworth community park/garden showed signs of hope. A sign noted that the garden had survived the flood and would be replanted. Already people had donated planters of flowers, and there were bushes and benches. It was spot of beauty and rest, and of determination that somehow this town would recover and find its way back again.

And the Elk River, cause of so much ruin, flows peacefully and unconcerned, back in its banks.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

The Good, The Ugly

Today was a storytelling day. I got up at 4:45 AM to be ready to leave at 5:30 for my show at the Philippi, WV Library. 

Yesterday was a long, long day of setting up, pricing, organizing, etc. I was tired, tired when I got home but there was still more packing to be done--getting the van (that awesome multi-purpose vehicle!) loaded up for storytelling. I had to refresh the stories in my mind a bit because I've been away from them for two weeks, but by this morning I was back in storyteller mode.

Driving across our state in the early hours is unbelievably beautiful. The morning fog was tinged with pink as the sun began its day, and there was very little traffic to interfere with just enjoying the drive. I'd hoped to be able to drive across the two-lane covered bridge in Philippi but it is still closed for repairs. However, the library was as bright and welcoming as ever, and I had a blast with the children who came for the program. We played with the stories, adapting them to suit ourselves, and in the end even the cool 7th graders were right in there, playing and laughing! Stories do that--they bridge the age groups, make us remember what it is to make-believe, to be spontaneous.And music to my ears, the librarian said as I was leaving, "We'd love for you to come back next year!" Ah yes! I'd love to.

I needed to hurry back to finish work on the booth. Well, hurry is a figurative term since it's a 3 1/2 hour drive each way from home to Philippi. I decided to take the interstate route, because I wanted to try to get to Clendenin, to see the library for myself. Somehow, I could not accept that it was truly ruined. I loved that little place and the community it served, and for the past 20+ years have felt attached to it and my friends made during the time I worked there. It was such a pleasure to visit, to see how vibrant it was, how it was the true heart of the community, and to see the familiar faces of staff and sometimes a Board member or patron that I remembered.

Here is what I wrote about that attempt this evening on Facebook: 

"I tried to go into Clendenin today, to see the library. I regret that decision very much. There was little traffic coming off the interstate so I thought maybe it wasn't too bad to get into town. Wrong. A little ways down the road traffic was all backed up. I wanted to turn around and forget it, but there was nowhere to turn. The sides of the road were gouged out. Tiny Doctor's Creek, I think it was, had washed out a virtual canyon. Everywhere, everywhere was destruction. The streets, what's left of them, are mud and dust. It's unbelievably sad. All the pretty, well-kept homes, now mud-crusted, broken, and the yards filled with huge piles of debris. I did finally find a place to turn around, never got to the library. The little town I loved, that was like a second home for me, was unrecognizable. And everywhere people were working so hard, looked so tired. It was heart-breaking. I need to go back, but I will go when I can offer some real help. They're going to need it for a long time." 

My words still cannot convey what my eyes could not believe. I wanted to look away; I was ashamed to be there and not be helping. I realized that not only the town but the outlying areas, and the homes of people I know, were also destroyed. The water was so deep--the debris is still high in trees. 

I took no photos; that was not my intention. It seemed wrong to even look. 

So friends, continue to send your prayers, support and good thoughts to these communities. They need them. They are going to need a lot of help to get their lives back to some semblance of order. These places will never, can never be the same. Maybe in time, they will come back better and stronger. That will be my prayer.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Flood Reflections

It rained.

At first we were grateful. It has been so dry, the gardens really needed the rain.

After a while we were a little impatient. finding umbrellas, judging what or if to do certain activities and field trips during the weeklong writing workshop. When it wasn't raining it was steamy hot. Sweat-dripping hot. But the evenings were cool, and the full moon showed herself beautifully on my birthday, such a gift.

Then it rained. And rained. And rained. For hours, it seemed, the waters poured like being poured from a bucket. We tried to go out to the Pearl S. Buck birthplace for the Master's Writing Workshop with Cat Pleska, each one of us driving slowly along the two-lane, watching for washed out places in the road, and the rain kept coming in torrents. When we got there, the power was out, so we returned to Marlinton and the library's warm and dry (and lighted) meeting room.

And it rained. Great sheets of it lashed the windows. Lightning and thunder made a great show. When we left the rain was still coming down. I wondered at the stream of new vehicles coming out of the side street, and later learned it was the car dealership moving all its cars to higher ground.

We decided to go back to the camp to check on the road conditions. I wanted to pack a few things just in case I might not be able to get back in. When we saw the creek that runs into the river near the camp, I changed my mind. I decided to pack everything and get out as quickly as I could. My companion packed a few things and left, asking first if I was sure I'd be okay. No worries, I said.

It only took me another 15 or 20 minutes to pack, but when I drove back out, I found water all across the only way out. It was shallow enough to drive through but had I waited another 5 minutes, I would not have been able to cross.

My only flood picture. I just didn't have the heart to take photos of other's troubles.

In town, water was everywhere. It was still raining. The state roads garage sat in a new muddy pond; the little community of Campbelltown was flooded. People were moving things out of their homes, and people stood watching by the road, offering help. Water was creeping up to the doors at the Dairy Queen and a men's shop also sat in the center of a new pond. The road was still clear so I drove up the mountain to the motel where Allegheny Echoes is held.

My camp friend was relieved to see me! I think they were ready to get a truck and go get me if I hadn't showed up soon. I spent the rest of the evening listening to music and talking. The rain stopped at last and we had a great time, not getting to sleep until well after 2 AM. (We'd found a place to stay at a nearby friend's house.)

This morning I left for the drive home, heading north on US 219. Storm damage was everywhere evident. Huge chunks of dirt had slid off hillsides down into the road and workers were clearing them. Pieces of fallen trees lay on the roadside; gravel and debris covered the road in places from washouts, and deep channels were carved down the edge of the pavement by the swift runoff. In one place the guardrail along a steep bank has washed out.

Further along I saw flooded fields, flooded farm equipment, homes surrounded by water. At one place the bridge across to a nice bed-and-breakfast inn had washed away, leaving the guests and owners stranded. They stood on the bank of the creek with their hands on their hips, contemplating the situation. At another house, a woman and two men stood in their yard, scattered yard ornaments, tools and debris all around them. The woman held her hand to her cheek as if unable to believe what she was seeing. For miles along this road I could see how far the water had been out of its banks, how many places it had been across the road.

In this remote area (an hour or more to a town large enough to have a good-sized supermarket), people are used to taking care of themselves. They will clean it up, fix what can be fixed and go on with their lives.

I finally got out of the area of this flood and got to a four-lane. I decided to take the prudent course and go by this route rather than my usual winding way across Route 33. Usually when WV floods it is this central region that gets hard hit--this and the coal regions to the south. But this time central WV was mostly spared.

I listened to the radio and the Governor's press conference about the flood. He said there was 14 confirmed deaths so far (now, 6 hours later, the toll has risen to 20).

Then I got closer to Clendenin. Clendenin is where I managed my first library and I have always felt it was another home. I could see signs of significant flooding again, and grew anxious about the library. When I reached the exit for the town I started to get off, to drive into town and see for myself what the situation was, but there was a police car blocking the exit, and a barrier. No one was being allowed in town. That did not bode well. At the next exit I could see the washed out bridge to the shopping mall where many people were stranded. There is another branch library there, another I had managed before it was moved to this new location. I worried some more.

A call to the library confirmed my fears about Clendenin. The library was flooded but no library staff or administrators could get there to assess the damage. They were more confident about the Elkview library since it is high above the water.

I made my way home and caught up on the news and many of my friends who live in the flood areas. Everyone was okay; some were stranded either at home or away from home but they were okay. I saw a picture of the little boy who was drowned in my county. So heartbreaking.

Tonight I am thankful to be back home with my husband, where the only damage is some washed out areas of the garden. That can be easily fixed. And on the table, a sweet homemade birthday cake that crumbled when he tried to frost it too soon after taking it out of the oven because he wanted it to be ready when I got here. How nice was that?

It is nice to be home, even though I hated to miss our last workshop day and the concert that I know will be amazing tonight. But home--there is no place quite like it.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.