When we began working at 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning. None of us really knew what to expect from our neighborhood work adventure. We found out soon enough.
It's strange how all one has to do is look around and see all the ways to help. Hopefully we did some good. We're missing a few objects we once owned ourselves, items now residing in the local landfill.
Funny how getting a bunch of people together who usually only see each other only on Sundays changes things. I heard funny stories about missionaries told by the once mission president--hilarious stories about an American missionary in Africa.
While we cleared trees and shrubs I spoke to a man near whom I have lived almost all my life. He wondered what I was doing taking pictures of his abandoned wood pile complete with an old ladder. When I told him I grew up and went to school with his daughter, we ended up talking.
As my son and I finished up, I noticed my neighbor's truck, a Studebaker--absolutely beautiful. But, then again, it's just a thing, an object. The only difference between the classic truck and the trash we threw away in trailers is minimal, really. It's the relationships with each other that are the only things that ultimately survive.