At first, I thought it was an accident. Twenty minutes later, when I had moved about 50 feet, I knew it was something worse. Then I saw a highway sign, and I remembered. I was approaching Pratt City. Pratt City was one of the harder hit areas from the tornadoes and storms that ripped through the state on Wednesday evening (see photograph in the post below).
I turned around and took a long detour to get around the traffic jam and on my way.
Today, coming home, I couldn't avoid it. Reaching the stopped traffic was much closer than I was on Friday. It wasn't long before I started seeing sights that simply horrified me.
As I approached the edge of the tornado's destructive path, trees were down and signs were bent over or broken. Then it got worse - quickly.
Trees were either snapped in half or ripped out of the ground entirely. Homes and other buildings were either crushed under trees or reduced to rubble. People who looked as if they haven't slept in four days staggered along the side of this busy highway, carrying black plastic garbage bags likely stuffed with their remaining belongings. Police cars, National Guard vehicles or both blocked the entry roads to the area. Clearly, if you didn't belong, you weren't getting in.
Several minutes later, I reached the point where the storm crossed the highway. Looking to both sides, it was as if a giant bulldozer or grader had just driven through from one side to the other. You could see people rummaging through piles of debris, likely looking for any personal belongings, family heirlooms or prized possessions they might get lucky and find. You saw police officers and National Guardsmen walking the streets, some speaking with people at the various locations. You saw no telephone or power poles, just an occasional power line tangled among the rubble.
Yes, you see the pictures. You see the video. But none of that truly gives you the feeling of what happened. I found myself thinking what it must have been like to have been in one of those homes as dark approached and the deadly storm rolled through on Wednesday night.
There's a major intersection with the highway that sat almost center in the path of the damage. The traffic light was still out, almost four full days later. Police officers directed traffic; turning in either direction was prohibited because they were attempting to secure the damaged areas.
As I approached the far side of the destructive path, cars were parked all along the roadsides. Perhaps these were volunteers, or maybe they were from volunteers who had to walk into these various areas. I saw church groups with tents set up in parking lots of destroyed businesses, handing out bottled water and food to those who needed it.
I didn't have my camera with me, and frankly, I didn't want to stop along the road and start taking photographs. I'm sure many of these people feel like they've been publicized, photographed and videotaped enough. I didn't want to stop in traffic with and use my phone camera because, being a major thoroughfare, the traffic was bad enough.
Traffic eased up after passing the path, but I couldn't forget about those images. I couldn't forget about the people wandering through what remained of their homes.
I drove over past Legion Field, the city-owned football stadium. The parking lots around the facility were filled with National Guard vehicles and supplies on one side, Alabama Power trucks, supplies and equipment on another; and Red Cross staging areas on another. As I pulled up, a Natonal Guard tractor trailer loaded down with some sort of supplies was pulling out, following by several National Guard transport trucks. They may have been headed to Pratt City, Pleasant Grove, Concord, Fultondale or any number of locations.
There's no doubt it will take months, if not years, for some of these places to recover. For many, there will never be a full recovery due to the loss of family members or loved ones.
And yet, perhaps the most frightening aspect is that it all was part of something no human being - or group of human beings - could control. This wasn't from a war. It wasn't from a chemical spill or an oil explosion or a nuclear plant accident. It was Mother Nature.
As some folks said in the comments on the previous post, sometimes Mother Nature can be a bitch.
Those of us who lived in the path of that storm and came out unscathed are truly lucky and blessed.
ReplyDeleteYes, John, we certainly are.
ReplyDeleteI can remember driving to and from work when the fires were burning Stevenson Ranch down in southern California. It was just across the freeway, less than a mile from my townhouse. It never jumped, but just seeing the flames was really quite scary.
ReplyDeleteAnd then seeing the destruction afterward. You're right that photographs can give you an idea, but you don't really get the sense of the tragedy until you're right in the middle of it to see it first hand.
I hope you've seen the worst of it now.
Travis, it's hard to imagine anything much worse than what those folks have suffered.
ReplyDelete