I just realized my
blog “Something Worth Leaving Behind” didn’t really have an ending. When I originally started writing it my
intention was to incorporate my experiences volunteering for the Habitat for
Humanity. Somehow my thoughts just weren’t
connecting the way I had originally anticipated. Instead of fighting the internal battle to
get the words to flow I decided that piece would be a precursor.
Habitat for Humanity is one of my favorite volunteer
organizations. Not only is it one of the
most structured and resourceful organizations I’ve ever worked with, the
organizers truly make a difference and have an immense impact on lives and the
community. They strive to make housing
affordable to all, promote dignity and hope, and support sustainable and
transformational development (Habitat for Humanity website). Much of the labor and materials are donated—the
volunteers are essential to helping their vision come to fruition.
I feel great pride being a small part of the Habitat for
Humanity. However, I would be remiss if
I didn’t admit this small confession. My motivation for becoming a Habitat for
Humanity volunteer wasn’t completely selfless.
I was certainly driven by the capacity to provide a helping hand and
make a difference, but the opportunity to learn building tips, play with power
tools and meet cute boys also cultivated my motivation. Hey, I’m 41 and single, it’s only natural and
I never proclaimed to be Florence Nightingale.
I vividly remember my first Habitat for Humanity volunteer
experience. It quickly dispelled the myth in my mind that the houses were
practically built overnight. I don’t know what I was expecting, it just seemed
like they came together so quickly in the 3-minute video we were shown during
the orientation session. During my first experience I learned construction is
hard labor, building codes have to be followed, and no job is too small.
I am always amazed how the foremen on the jobs have always been
so patient and understanding. They have to be to orchestrate a job of that
magnitude with the revolving door of volunteers with varying abilities and
knowledge. The houses are ultimately
built through their expertise, experience, wisdom, guidance and passion to make
a difference. They direct the
volunteers—nail-by-nail, board-by-board, inch-by-inch, square foot-by-square
foot until the houses are finished and new dreams are a reality.
I joined Habitat for Humanity with my friend Irene. Before we could even sign up for a
construction site we had to attend an orientation. It took place in a little library near our
office after work. We couldn’t help but
laugh at all of the women who showed up to the orientation. They were all
dressed up in their Sunday best, make-up, hair and outfits perfectly
finished. Of course, we weren’t laughing
at them, we were laughing with them because we certainly didn’t show up in
potato sacks. There was one man who
really stood out, looking like he just stepped out of GQ magazine, we couldn’t
help but notice his eye popping gaze at all of the women. He was clearly in good company and on a
mission of his own.
A few days after our first orientation in preparation for
our first day on construction work, we went to Lowes to buy safety glasses. We
discussed all of the logistics, what we should wear, what we would pack for
lunch, and our expectations and anticipations. Irene kept reminding me more than
meeting cute men she was really hoping to play with power tools.
The entire morning before we were scheduled to arrive to
help out we were texting each other, we both felt prepared. We had our safety glasses, work shoes, long
pants, sunscreen, packed lunches, and water.
We arrived early and were ready to serve. I was on a mission to make sure we were
assigned to the job where we would be able to play with power tools.
That morning when they were assigning jobs for the day we
had a choice between hanging siding or plumbing. I quickly raised my hand for the plumbing
project. I didn’t know what to expect, I just knew that we would have an
opportunity to use the jackhammer and the tamper aka “wacker.”
Our duty was to dig a trench, 16 inches deep (or maybe 18 or 24 inches deep, I can’t
remember exactly) and roughly 3 feet long, insert a pipe, and fill the
trench back up with dirt. Sounds so easy
as I write it, but I can’t lie, it was a long hard day of backbreaking manual
labor.
Our foreman Mike walked us through all of the steps. He
handed us shovels, showed us how to use the jackhammer and left us alone for a
while so we could work. Irene was the first one to try out the jackhammer. I was a little nervous at first, but then
quickly got the hang of it. There was something empowering about using a jackhammer
to dig into the earth. Empowering that
is, until I got a little over zealous and got it stuck. I felt like a complete dork digging the
jackhammer out of the ground with my shovel.
Fortunately, Irene was the only one who witnessed it. Everyone else was
busy doing his or her own project.
Did I mention ditch digging is hard labor? Mike let us work independently, but he
closely monitored our progress. He would
look at our work, tell us we were doing a fantastic job, and then he would take
out his tape measure and tell us keep digging. His first words of advice to us
were; dig deeper and longer, not wider.
Irene and I had a Beavis and Butthead moment. We giggled and smirked every time we said it.
Little by little, or I should say inch-by-inch, we reached
our goal. Mike would stop by, pull out
his measuring tape and tell us only 2 more inches. I swear his definition of 2 more inches and
our perception was very different. Nonetheless,
through teamwork and laughter using our shovels and the jackhammer we dug the
perfect trench.
Or so we thought.
Once we thought we were finished digging the trench we were tasked with
putting a PVC pipe into the ground. Mike
was very contentious, the pipe needed to be set at the perfect depth and it had
to lie flat in the hole. A little more
digging and we were finally ready to place the pipe into position. Add Mike’s
magical assistance and the pipe was set and ready to be entombed in its new
home.
I thought it sounded like an easy job, we would just put the
dirt we dug back into the hole. If only
it were that simple. The pipe had to be
covered with dirt that was the perfect consistency. Not too dry or too wet. Mixing dry dirt with wet dirt from the job
site and adding a little water when we needed was a little nostalgic. It brought
back fond memories of making mud pies during my childhood years.
The dirt also had to be compacted very tightly. This is where the wacker and the manual
tamper enter
the story. I quickly discovered the electric wacker, the beast, 157 pounds of pure machine and power, was a lot more fun to use than the manual tamper. Irene and I filled the trench inch-by-inch or what felt like centimeter-by-centimeter with the perfectly mixed dirt, then we patted it down until it was flat and firm. We repeated the process for hours until the trench was level with the ground again.
 |
| The finished project...the Rock Street House |
Once we were finished with our project we helped put all of
the tools away and cleaned up our area.
Physically we were beat, sweaty, and exhausted, but we felt a sense of
pride and accomplishment for our work and opportunity to leave impressions our
small handprints and big hearts on the house.
We knew the family, the father who had just recovered from brain cancer,
would never know our names, but they would appreciate our efforts.
