The Smells, Sounds and Sights of Aftermath

I don’t see my son often enough. Since he moved to the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre area of Pennsylvania, our busy lives take us in opposite directions more than they bring us together. Family is so important to both of us, so we do our best to make special occasions more special. We had been planning for months to visit him at his home in West Pittston for his birthday, but we never could have predicted how the events of the last several weeks would affect our lives. First a phone call: “Dad, we have to evacuate because the Susquehanna River is going to be over flood stage.” A week in someone else’s house ended in a safe return home…the water stopped at 44 feet, about a block from their house. Closer to the river, other residents of the small community were not as lucky. Homes were devastated. Another call: “Dad, it will bring tears to your eyes to see the damage here.” He described landmarks we remembered from previous visits and his descriptions were unbelievable. Before we left Danbury for the drive to West Pittston, I got another call from him that there may be problems even getting to his house because of roadblocks to keep non-residents out of the area. We left it to chance and made contingency plans on how we would get together if the roads were closed.

We are bombarded everyday with the news of tragic events all around the globe. Even when tempered by real people giving eyewitness accounts on social media channels, the sensationalist talking heads on commercial media are broadcasting “news” when it is both immediate and profitable. I hope we are not so desensitized by tragedy to the point that we don’t think of the aftermath, but I have to admit that I had no idea about the long recovery process that takes place  following these events…until today. Two weeks later, the national news media is looking for new events to fill the front pages, but in West Pittston there is no slow news day. For those hit hardest by the flood, life itself is a major news story with updates minute-by-minute. Walking around the area today moved me to tears. My son was right about that.

The environment of this area today attacks all the senses. The first and most noticeable thing to me is the smell…that indescribable smell. The drying mud which covered everything a week ago becomes airborne with wind and moving traffic. It leaves a brownish cloud hanging at ground level which is not exactly odorless but somehow different from normal air. Wet, damp decay permeates the air. It is a mix of mold, mildew, and rotting trash. Pollution from generators, water pumps and heavy road machinery mixes with the cloud to produce an unbreathable atmosphere. Homeowners and helpers alike look like surgeons ready for the OR with masks to protect themselves. On Orchard Street, about two miles from my son’s house, a 62 year old woman was found dead alone in her home with 3-feet of standing water in her basement. Authorities tested the air in her house, and although they do not know what it is, candidates include carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, methane, and hydrogen sulfide.

A cacophony of sound challenges the senses. The deep throbbing sound of machines pumping water mixes with the high pitched whine of generators pumping out electricity. An occasional siren rises above the din, but it is almost overlooked as people continue about their drudgery. Today the roads are mostly cleared of the thick coat of mud that only a few days ago caked everything, but heavy equipment usually associated with building new roads from scratch are rumbling around everywhere. A corner lot where several business were on the ground floor with two stories of apartments above them is now a real estate gap with the tractor that ripped down the dangerous structure still chugging proudly in the hole. Conversation is brief. Most people are silent and the words that are momentarily exchanged seems muffled and unemotional.

The sights are too stark to describe in words. Sidewalks are lined with drywall, furniture, appliances, carpet and some unidentifiable building material dragged from the homes along the street. Ironically, some stacks of rubble have bright shiny toys shining through the brownish tinged trash. This more than anything else is the definition of the tragedy of families who have been touched by the river. It is as if the power of the surging water pushed a button placing everything on indefinite pause. There are handmade signs of hope as well as despair. There was one piece of poignant political graffiti addressing those who opposed constructing a local levee along the river because it would block their view of the river. American flags abound. There are clean, spotless Stars and Stripes posted among the limp brown ones which somehow were left behind. One makeshift sign scrawled on cardboard reads, “Help us, Mr. Obama. We have lost everything.” Some of the quaint houses where everything on the first floor, including the front porch furniture, was swept away by the river has been adorned with flowers and potted plants in a symbol of beginning anew.

All of these smells, sounds and sights are a snapshot of a point in time only two weeks after the actual act of destruction. The rebuilding and subsequent growth which we all expect to happen will take much longer. The memories will never die.

Link: Vice President Biden, Red Cross President Visit PA Flood Zone. Consider a donation to the Red Cross to help those who suffer from natural disasters. Look deep into your heart and reach deep into your pockets and consider making a contribution to help those brave souls recovering from disaster.