We are used to hurricanes and their aftermath here on the Gulf Coast. I say used to, as if you can ever get used to massive, whirling storms that spawn tornadoes, uproot decades old trees, flood streets and disrupt city utilities for days. I don’t like to think about the lives lost.

After the storm disintegrates to remnants of wind and pressure systems the recovery begins. It’s always massive, communal, and personal.

It’s a time when you stop and wonder who figures out the power grids that supply a city, a home with the constant flow of electricity. Electricity that powers gasoline pumps, refrigerators, hair dryers, and breathing machines.

In every time past, my experiences have led me to wonder at the generosity of first responders. There are hosts of them that deal with people in hospitals and nursing homes. They put out fires. They pick up garbage.

The ones I remember the best are the crews, with lineman skilled in working among dangling wires, jiggling and sparking, electricity crackling in the air around them. Because I have watched them fill my yard, untangle the lines from downed trees and restore power to my house. Several times. Their license plates and accents told me they weren’t from around my town.

I watched the news as crews of electric repairmen headed for New York, from here on the Gulf Coast. I know they will work long hours in dangerous conditions to aid the East Coast of my country to get power back to those who don’t have it… along with crews from other places.

God bless you all. All you first responders. And God bless all those to whom they are responding…