Contributed by Debra McGhan
One evening, I asked my 13-year-old adopted granddaughter, Brooke, if she’d like to paddle around the lake in the canoe. She promptly jumped up and said yes. Like many 13-year-olds, she wasn’t thrilled when I handed her a life jacket and insisted she put it on. Fortunately, she relented without a fuss. I should have ensured that, like it or not, she zipped it all the way to the top. At least she had it on.
As we paddled along, the wind came up and suddenly caught my hat, pulling it off my head and sending it flying down the lake. I turned around to see it bouncing on the water’s surface and tried to back-paddle so I could retrieve it. At that exact moment, my granddaughter turned toward me to see what was happening and leaned over the same side of the boat I was trying to paddle on.
Unable to shift my weight to counteract it in time, I felt the slow-motion reaction of her added weight as the boat capsized, and we found ourselves in the water.
“My phone, my phone!” Brooke screamed, splashing and thrashing around.
I grabbed my foam sandals, which were floating away, and reached down to feel my phone in my pocket. Pulling it out, I held it above my head.
“What are we going to do?” Brooke screamed.
By this point, the paddles were drifting away, so I reached out and grabbed one.
“We’re going to flip the boat all the way upside down, and you are going to hang on to it,” I told her. “Then we’re going to kick for land. Whatever you do, don’t let go of the canoe!”
Following my lead, we managed to roll the canoe over, and she held on as we started kicking toward shore.
Exhaustion set in quickly as I kicked with all my might while struggling to hang on to the canoe, the paddle, and my phone, all while making sure Brooke was okay.
Fortunately, the water wasn’t too cold, but progress was painfully slow.
“I don’t think we’re going anywhere,” Brooke insisted, fighting the life jacket she hadn’t fully zipped.
“We are,” I answered. “Just keep kicking,” I shouted, feeling my body growing weaker.
That’s when my neighbor across the lake appeared on her dock.
“Hold on,” she shouted. “I’ll get some help.”
“Kick! Kick! Kick!” I told Brooke. “We’re going to be okay.”
As we inched closer to shore, my neighbor and her husband appeared again, climbed into their pedal boat, and headed upwind toward us. It took all of us working together to finally connect and get Brooke out of the lake. I stayed with the canoe until we had it wedged against the shore and I was confident it wasn’t going anywhere.
“We can worry about the canoe later,” I said. “It’s full of water, but it’s not going anywhere. Unfortunately, there isn’t any hope for your phone,” I told Brooke.
I realized in that moment that, as long as I have lived on this lake, I hardly know any of my neighbors. I’ve been so involved in work and family life that I haven’t taken the time to meet many of the people who live around me.
Ironically, after nearly two decades teaching emergency preparedness and disaster response, I had overlooked one of the most important parts of preparedness myself—knowing the people who live around you.
Standing on that shoreline, meeting my rescuers for the very first time, I realized preparedness isn’t just about having supplies, equipment, or a plan. It’s also about community.
In an emergency, neighbors often become the first responders.
While I appreciate neighbors who keep to themselves, I also recognize that in times of emergencies and disasters, we need each other. Had my neighbors not seen us in distress and come to our rescue, this story might have ended very differently.
It wasn’t the best way to meet my neighbors, but it taught me a valuable lesson I’ll never forget. Take time to meet the people who live around you. Attend a community council meeting. Introduce yourself. Build those relationships before you need them.
You never know when you might need a friendly, helping hand.
