Unrelenting rain brought catastrophic flooding, and my Midwestern town began recovery efforts the traditional way: people brought donations. By the time I arrived with bleach and mops, contributions had been arriving all day, and volunteers scrambled to keep them organized. I looked around, impressed that this town, considered a low-income area, could be so generous so quickly. Diapers stacked on this table, snacks piled over there, paper products to the front, pet food to the back.
The silicon cupcake pan, sitting by itself, caught my eye. For families that just lost everything, it seemed a low-priority item. “Someone wanted to clean out their kitchen cupboards,” I smirked, and moved on.
It wasn’t until later that I considered another possibility. “Maybe someone wanted to say that the day will come when you will need this. You will bake in your own kitchen again. You will celebrate birthdays, donate to bake sales, and take cupcakes to the church pitch-in. You will build a new normal. Hold on.”
Emily Dickinson called hope “the thing with feathers/that perches in the soul.” I wonder what she’d write about “the thing with wells/that rests beside the wall.” Maybe it would continue the same way: “And sings the tune without the words – / And never stops – at all -“
#ConnersvilleStrong
