BAYOUKIDZ | Restoring Our Faith In Humanity

article by Cindy G. Foust

I guess I’m a little late to the party asking everyone how they are doing post Ice-ma-geden, but really, how’s everyone doing? Y’all knew I was going to write about this, didn’t you? I don’t want to think I have gotten somewhat predictable in this column…and that I keep my readers waiting each month with wonder in their hearts about what I am going to write about. And then I spring it on you.

I do a lot of springing…that’s for sure. But this month, the obvious topic is our foe, the biggest pain in our tails to hit this community in years, and that is Fern. You know, when I think about the name Fern, I think about those beautiful green bushes we buy for our summer porches and patios or the beautiful classic children’s book Where the Red Fern Grows. Except, there wasn’t anything beautiful about the Fern that took our community by seige, literally and figuratively, and wreaked so much havoc right in front of our eyes.

But if you like to be a glass half-full person like me, shouldn’t we at least try to identify some of the “beautiful” things that happened during that week of ice up to our nose holes? Can I say nose holes in this column? It felt like at one point that we were under an avalanche. But truthfully, I felt like Laura Ingalls Wilder for about 10 days, and I’m telling you what readers, I am just not that kind of girl.

At day 10, it looked like you fried a hamburger on my head because we didn’t have water. No power. No water. No internet. Suddenly I thought I was on the prairie and someone was expecting me to can my pickles and shuck my corn. Incidentally, I get both my pickles and my corn at the Farmer’s Market from Mr. Tommy and Mrs. Barbara, and if you haven’t, do yourself a favor in May and get yours there, too.

But I’m in a rabbit hole. So, what about your families? Same, same, same for all of us…it’s like the world shut down again, even if it was just a week, and it got eerily quiet. Except for the sound of the tree limbs falling out of the sky; I won’t get over that booming noise for a long time. And our yard? Well, y’all know Scott loves his grass more than he loves me, or so it feels like it sometimes, and our yard looked like a war zone. But the scariest part to me, was the way Fern exposed our fearless linemen, and put them in danger on a minute-to-minute basis. Our Jay, who worked 16-hour days, and my daughter-in-law’s dad, who has quietly restored paper safely to citizens for years, put themselves in harm’s way, along with their teams of local and non-local Entergy people to help give us back our power.

You know what I figured out though, friends? The power that we wanted back so badly, that we prayed every day for was actually there all the time. And it wasn’t the power that gives you light when you turn on a switch…no, the power was in the people. My dear friend, and your head coach for ULM football, Coach Bryant Vincent (get yourself out to campus to meet him and his team when you can, you can thank me later) always says to me, “Cindy, the power is in the people.” And he’s not wrong.

The power in our community people became that light switch that turned on the minute the first icicle froze in our trees. That power jumped on Facebook and started alerting our friends to dangerous and treacherous driving conditions. That power checked on those affected by fallen limbs and icy driveways and generators that ran out of gas. That power found our mayors, our police jurors, our public official friends, who themselves didn’t have power either, on their social media accounts giving us updates and trying to warn us when something was dangerous.

And speaking of dangerous, these limbs, the ones that are still lining the streets both city and country, well, they were quite simply everywhere. My own street was impassable at one point and the “people” that live there as well as neighbors (thank you Payton and your chainsaw), came out and moved those limbs. Incidentally, me, Tashia and Angel Grace are excellent supervisors should any construction companies have an opening.

The power I saw that week also jumped in to help students at the University who were stranded; that power began cleaning debris from older citizens homes; and churches demonstrated their power by opening their doors to serve food, warmth and charging stations.

So as I traverse back to the first of this column when I start out talking about how inconvenienced I was, the truth is, I was equally, if not more, inspired. It made me realize that even in spite of this unexpected and unwelcome storm, our community, my community, demonstrated its power yet again.

Now, I read negative comments I did. Let me say this, as someone who had family exposed and vulnerable for their physical and mental safety, there workers were not playing basketball at the Rec center eating hotdogs. I know the lack of power starting wearing us down…it did, and just the worry over our elderly, our pets (in case y’all might have worried about my donkey, she survived yet another weather system and I rewarded her with honeybuns and graham crackers) and our plants. I get it, I probably mumbled under my breath, too, but I like to think that my prayers for the safety of all those who were putting themselves in harm’s way was louder than my grumbles.

So, to all those who did just that, put themselves in harm’s way to restore our power, I want to thank you. I want you to know that we saw you in those bucket trucks with ice all around you while you held a flashlight in your mouth (I’m not sure if they did that part, but it sounds like a good climax to the story) to restore our power. We see the 16-18-hour days; the cold frigid temperatures you worked in; and the worry you gave your families until you returned home. We see you.

But we also see the power that this community executed…and not only did it restore our electrical power, it restored our faith in humanity…in the good people that insulates this community. I am proud to live here. I am blessed to live here. And I will never ever, ever again, for as long as I live, wish for a snow day. That’s a fact you can bet on.

Cindy G. Foust is a wife, mom, author and blogger. You can find her blog at the alphabetmom.com for weekly columns about home life,  parenting, small business stories and insight with a smidgen of literacy. Give her a like or follow on Facebook and Instagram.