Earthquake Report Day 5 (26 February)
Today was another day of digging, my fourth in a row so far and it would be fair to say that I’m knackered. But we’re close, I think, to completing as much as we can readily do on the digging front.
Some human stories that have arisen recently—still from the ‘burbs, but just to give a little bit of the picture beyond digging out mud—include:
- My neighbour Paul (the same Paul who flagged down the digger to clear out my driveway yesterday) met a woman wandering along the road who as he put it “looked almost wild.” She had been shut out from her work immediately following the quake (this happened a lot where buildings were unsafe to return to) but her handbag, with her car keys, wallet etc was locked inside. So she had no money, no cards, no transport and also no water and very little food. Paul took her back to his home, where he and his wife gave her a meal, water to take away with her and $200 to tide her over. I am sure things like this are happening all over the city right now, but this is the story I know, so I’m putting my hands together right now for Paul and his wife, Tina.
- A sadder story is that of friends who own a neighbourhood cafe—Piccolo, the ‘best little coffee shop in the world’ for all the locals that frequented it. Forced to close for 6 weeks after the last earthquake, things were really starting to hum again. But when I walked down to see how they had fared this time, my friend Jackie said simply, “It’s over.” The building and their business both gone in the brief fierce seconds of the 6.3 earthquake.
Very small stories compared to the major drama playing out within the cordoned-off central area of the city: a drama of both collapsing and exploding buildings as the earthquake struck; of people who had to have limbs amputated to pull them clear of building ruins and of others being crushed in the street by falling masonry; of too many people still missing and the death toll climbing with every day that passes. These are the big stories, the ones you will see in your media coverage, but all the time the smaller events are also playing out—a very minor part of the whole earthquake drama, perhaps, but still huge for the people caught up in them.
Piccolo? I loved that place, that’s awful 🙁
The stories are amazing, aren’t they? I’m so proud of Canterbury right now.
Wen,
I am sure there are more negative stories out there, like those guys who stole the emergency generators, but my experience has pretty much universally been one of people—such as yourself—really working togther and supporting each other.
And yes, the loss of Piccolo is a great blow, but mostly I feel for two friends who now have no livelihood.
wow, the pictures of your yard and street are something. Bless that guy with the heavy equipment helping everyone dig out!
Sharon, Mark and the digger really made a huge difference!
Heart goes out to people like your cafe-owner friends… And may there be a Paul to spot and take in every wild wanderer. Poor lady.
Yes—and it could so easily have been any of us, because so often we do have essentials in a bag by our work station, but what if we are working somewhere else when the emergency strikes?
Dear Helen,
What a relief to finally visit your blog and hear that everyone in your household is ok, although exhausted from liquefaction digging. It is the heaviest stuff ever and i am sorry that you’ve had so much of it.
In this grim week I love that you are highlighting the goodness of your neighbours and the care from friends all over. I am so glad the wild lady met Paul and Tina and that they looked after her. It makes me want to cry.
Thinking of you,
Rebecca, I am so glad that I can put my hand on my heart and tell it absolutely as I am experiencing it. And doubly glad that you, too, are safe.
I’m glad to hear you’re dealing. I’m thinking of all of you.
Thank you, Gillian.
I so admire you for your spirit – getting stuck in and putting your home to rights. I have been in regular contact with friends / family in Christchurch and know many others are still sitting in shock in the midst of their ruined homes, too numb to act. While I am sure nothing will feel ‘normal’ for quite some time, the act of repairing, of doing, must be cathartic and has to be a step in the right direction.
Thank you, Charlotte. I feel a little embarrassed at the praise because to me I am only doing what comes next and also what very much needs to be done. I can really understand feeling numb, because the whole scale of what happened was and is so overwhelming. And sometimes people need help to get past the frozen stage, someone to suggest a small task that they can manage and that will get them ‘unfrozen.’