Unbelievable. Once the roads, in some measure, had been cleared by locals, a neighbor I had never met showed up in my driveway with a fully gassed-up generator. Seemingly cut off from the entire planet—no power, water, cell phone coverage or internet—other strangers began to trickle into our neighborhood. The first police vehicle I noticed was from Charlotte, North Carolina, 2 hours away. Next it was a power company from Ohio. Over the course of 2 weeks—a period distinguished by isolation, communication-exasperation and stalled relief efforts—the United States of America showed up on our front porch. I met people from Wisconsin, Missouri, Michigan, Kentucky, Illinois, Pennsylvania, New York, Minnesota, Oklahoma, Colorado, California, Texas . . . even Alaska. If there is such a thing, I have been more than astonished. Total strangers abandoning livelihoods, family, and responsibilities to meet a need, a desperate lack of resources even I—a director of a home repair nonprofit—couldn’t fully wrap my mind around. We’ve been fed, watered, warmed and comforted by neighbors, volunteers, and non-politicized local, state and federal governments. When I head down to the RailYard each morning—the local gathering place to find food, hobnob with friendly strangers and strategize with volunteers—if we weren't living in such an immense tragedy, I’d guess I was living in Mayberry.

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Unbelievable.

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