The winter storm of 2024 came in with a soft breath of swirling powder dancing on the pavement. I wondered, even amid the cold snap what kind of presence she would make.
I often feel a kind of frenetic energy, a type of anxiousness right before something is set to happen. That something is of more consequential impact. I struggled with the migraine, the sleepless nights, and the wondering.
Then it happened.
But it didn’t happen to me. It happened to my wonderful friend whom I’ve held close through the years. A brilliant artist whose stories and education about her heritage helped shape the art community and literary world of our beautiful city over the years. Shu-Wang and her husband Mike lived art, they didn’t just create it. The way she speaks, the way she writes, the way she moves in the world. Their gorgeous home was a testament to her love of nature.
Twenty different species of birds, chickens, and Koi fish in their pond. A garden of delights.
In the violent ice, wind and snow storm, a series of towering evergreens sliced through their home and smashed that gorgeous garden.
Snow and ice gripped our Portland area with a vengeance. When the winds began to blow I groaned.
The postings by the scores, friends, and loved ones, one by one by one report the power outages.
Then came the emotional posting from Shu-Ju, picture after picture set a vision for the absolute torrent of loss.
I don’t remember thinking about it, I just remember taking the reins right away. One thing you understand if you have been in the construction and development community as long as I have, is that unless you operate within it, it is much like speaking another language to someone who is not.
I have worked on hundreds of disaster restoration issues over the years, felled trees, water intrusions, and fire. I know the steps, the systems, and the right contacts to ensure that at least through the physical restoration process, they get through it. Shu-Ju gave me the trust and autonomy to project manage this disaster as a way that I could serve in this harrowing situation. All of their friends and loved ones stepped in. Food, lodging, support, supplies, care and love. It was indicative of a life well lived and loved. This is the life you want to lead. One where if disaster comes calling, your loved ones rally to support and lift you.
Ice set us behind in tree removal and restoration teams showing on site. Cranes and teams could not fight against the landscape until some of it thawed.
During this time an even more despicable event happened. They were burglarized. Someone scaled the treacherous environment to enter the house and steal items left behind, including Mike’s rare cello. I was stunned, I was angry, I was confused as to how such a traumatic thing could happen to one of the best people I know.
Then I became quiet and I watched. I watched the patience and fortitude of the woman this happened to reach out like a beacon shining in fog. In moments where my struggles combined with watching this terrible event happen to a good friend compounded into anger against my own higher power, I heard that still small voice say “Pay attention, Jennifer, see how she navigates, her point of views, listen carefully, for actions and works are the greater teacher of wisdom”
A few days later another incredible event happened. This time, justice. The Portland Police see thousands of burglaries. They are so overburdened I thought that this one would evaporate into the ethos much like the others. But Shu-Ju’s husband Mike was able to track his stolen electronics to an address and gave this info in their report of burglary to the police. The Portland Police executed a search warrant and partnered with the Sheriff’s office and Tigard Police and Kowalski was brought in. It was an important message to send to criminals in our state about not taking advantage of natural disaster situations. I am beyond grateful.
That voice was right, we live in a world filled with words but actions are the greater teacher of wisdom. If I squint hard enough, I can see a way through the fog to the possibility that the pieces can be gathered and made into something good. Though it takes some imagination now, I can see where the garden just might be made into something better than it was before, but it is hard to see through the mess and mire of minutes now.
Some situations seem so excruciating in their timetables, and it seems as though faith, even the size of a mustard seed maintained, can move mountains. I’ve lived long enough to know that sometimes it is through retrospect. You don’t see it until you’ve reached the other side.
