A state where neighbors feel an obligation to help each other

My day began with an absence of sound. The alarm clock did not ring but I was awake at just the right time to do what needed to be done: Dress, eat, tie back my hair and load up the chainsaw.

Other volunteers with Nechama Jewish Disaster Response were waiting in St. Louis Park to caravan to Wadena, Minn., at 7 a.m. Sunday. Just back in the country after volunteering elsewhere, I didn't know if I could commit to this cleanup. I thought I might sleep in and then do a little flyfishing with my husband. But I woke with a different sense of purpose that strikes me as innately Minnesotan.

If you've lived here for any length of time, you know that Mother Nature can turn on you in any season. You've got to be good to your neighbors, because you never know when you're going to need them to push your car out of a snow bank. Nechama extends the view of "neighbors" to folks all over the country. When there were floods in Southeast Minnesota a few years ago, my husband and I joined the group to help gut and power-wash houses. We felt connected to the Southeast area because we'd enjoyed the fishing there and heard in Nechama's call for volunteers an opportunity to "give back" after a river we loved left its banks. I first saw the group's volunteers in action on the other end of the Mississippi River after Hurricane Katrina.

Nechama helps around the country, without regard to the religion of its beneficiaries or of its volunteers. Training, however, is very highly regarded. Nechama offers classes in chainsaw safety, CPR and first aid, and in the basics of disaster management. I really took to the chainsawing. I'm only partly joking when I say that my mother knew how to use a chainsaw and I didn't feel complete until I learned how to use one, too. I also learned that Nechama is the Hebrew word for "comfort" and operates on the idea of "tikkun olam," or healing the world.

Thanks to Nechama, I was chainsawing in Wadena on Sunday. I'm very sorry for what happened there, and helping my neighbors feels like the healing thing to do. Our caravan checked in with the emergency management folks in a former Pamida parking lot, got our assignment to cut and haul tree debris, and headed over to Leann Scalia's house.

Leann lives on the main drag in a lovely Craftsman-style home. One of her giant pine trees fell and clipped the corner of her roof. There's really no way to fight Mother Nature. You've just got to plan for the worst and know how to clean up afterward. I think the physical and emotional healing come more easily when a little order is restored.

So we chunked up that pine and hauled the branches to the curb, clearing the entry to the house and the driveway. Leann said she wants to make art out of the remaining root wad. Petunias and impatiens smiled brightly in the sun, wrapped in the clashing perfumes of pine sap and chainsaw exhaust.

At lunchtime we doffed our helmets, gloves and chaps and walked a few blocks to the VFW. We were treated to some terrific fried fish, coleslaw, chips and cookies by folks who thanked us for being there. On the walk back we were offered fresh fruit from the Salvation Army van. Red Cross trucks handed out water regularly.

We were refueled, and so were our saws; we set to work on a box elder tree next to the alley. Even in earmuffs I can tell when a saw sings for a sharper chain. The woodchips change size, and the blades slow. I am glad for gloves, because the saw parts are hot, jagged and gunky with wood and oil.

When we limbed and cleared the trunk, this tree revealed a garbage bin. How the bin remained uncrushed is a mystery to me. A Mason jar lid appeared on the ground. Made of soft dark metal and lined with milk glass, it seemed a visitor from the past, out of context and sprinkled with sawdust. It was just more evidence of how lives can change in a moment. Like the house-sized pile of metal roofing on the next street corner, the jar lid could have come from miles away.

We finished the day with the will to return as needed. We could see that much more of Wadena can use our style of healing. But even this modest offering can strengthen our bonds as Minnesotans.

----

Sarah Sanford is an acupuncturist from Robbinsdale.

Gallery

Fullscreen SlideshowPrevious Slide

1 of 1

Next Slide