Harvesting Better Tomorrows One Small Handprint at a Time

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.