Iowa added the word “Derecho” to its vocabulary this summer. It was a storm we hadn’t experienced before and certainly didn’t know how to pronounce it. Essentially, it’s an inland hurricane. Parts of the state experienced 140 mph winds during a massive thunderstorm. Some of our population are living in tents with their families. Folks will one day speak of August 10, 2020, with the same hushed voices that we speak of the Flood of ‘93.
I moved away from Joplin the year prior to the destructive tornado in 2011. A crew of friends went down with three carloads of donations. Folks had donated clothes and diapers, toothpaste, and bottled water. I worked at a home improvement store at the time. The morning after the tornado hit Joplin, the first words out of everyone’s mouths were “How can we help?” After gathering resources and people, we drove south from I-35 to I-49.
Two days of watching social media and trying to contact friends gave little preparation for the destruction in the town I felt like I’d spent a lot of time growing up in. I got lost. Driving down Main Street I found myself to be five blocks from where I thought I was. The buildings were gone, and only piles of rubble existed. It was eerily similar to images of bombed-out European cities after World War II. I realized my miscalculation in location when I passed what used to be a Sonic. The slanted concrete curbs for parking stalls exposed the error in my sense of location.
Donations of time and resources flooded into Joplin. The problem was still getting those to the folks in need. Near a venue that’d I’d played punk festivals just a few years before, massive tents went up. Semi-trucks of donations rolled in. Nobody was in charge, but everyone found a role to fill. The American Red Cross set up camp near our grassroots distribution center, and our parking lots became a hub. Joplin is an old mining town, right in the middle of the United States. It’s no surprise that the generosity of the midwest and beyond would come flowing into the county the moment enough trees had been cleared from roads.
The following year, Moore, Oklahoma experienced one of its many tornados. To the best of my knowledge, that was the first time I’d paid attention while driving through Moore. Boats were hanging in trees that’d been stripped of their leaves and young branches. Their branches looked like they were reaching toward the sky and asking for help while expecting none. A family searched through their rubble, clearly searching for something specific. They explained that the crumbled pickup truck one hundred yards beyond the house foundation hadn’t been slowed down by the second floor of the house.
Somewhere in what remained of their home, and the remnants of dozens of other homes, they hoped to find a small safe. They had a few thousand dollars tucked away for hard times. While that’s not much to some, to these folks it gave them confidence in their ability to start over. As our group began sorting through as best we could, others joined the effort. Skid loaders showed up and moved large chunks of debris. Those of us on the ground kept eyes on the bucket loads for anything resembling a safe. Two hours into the endeavor, one of us kicked at the top of a washing machine, to find that they were standing on the safe.
When the derecho hit Iowa on August 10, many of the Iowans in my circles had already had a hell of a year. Perhaps the presidential primaries should have been an indication for the year to come. Service industry and musician friends have been struggling to stay afloat since bars and breweries have been sporadically closed. On top of all that, folks were trying to keep the safety of others in mind as they move about. That storm really threw a curve into an already turbulent year for many folks. After a few days without electricity, neighbors stepped up to help each other. Line crews from across the continent worked tirelessly to restore power. In the meantime, grocery stores and food trucks provided food for those without, rather than letting food spoil. When you live with Middle West weather, you grow accustomed to helping your neighbors in times of need. Keep helping each other, friends, there’s always more weather coming.
And it would’t be so cold if it weren’t for that damn wind.
