I wasn’t there that night
When the mountains couldn’t hold any more rain
And sent water rolling down.
Twelve inches in just a few hours raised the Kentucky River
-And its tributaries-
Twenty feet and more.

Over forty souls lost.

Troublesome Creek lived up to its name.
Homes and schools.
Stores and clinics.
Cars and dumpsters.
Gone.  
Swept away by raging torrents.

I watched the news stories for two weeks, horrified and heartbroken.

Then I went shopping and bought tools and donuts and sodas
I drove them to people I didn’t know but already loved.
Carried tapes and records and videos out of the Appalshop Archive
Lost an earring when I pulled off the respirator. 
Really I lost nothing at all. 
Met some amazing folks. Gained knowledge and wisdom.

A couple weeks later went to Hindman and hung pictures and stories
On makeshift clotheslines. Propped open books and separated papers.
Their archives were almost destroyed, 
Then thrown in freezers to stop the mold.
We weren’t going to let history be washed away 
By greedy, absent landowners and mine operators.

Three years later, 
Archives still being restored and dried and preserved.
Many homes rebuilt.
Schools have reopened.
Stores are fully stocked.  And yet.
Forty-four still not at the dinner table.
Too many still can’t sleep – when there’s heavy rain.
Flood waters still come too often.

I’ve made remarkable friendships.
I have encouragement, acceptance
Sustenance.
I love these people and their hills and hollers.

Still I’ve lost nothing at all.