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Was there ever such a glorious sight as the prayed for rain that appeared earlier this week and has continued on-and-off, since? I turned my face up to the sky that first morning and felt the cold drops splash and slide down my neck, saturating my collar. Not particularly pleasant but all I could think of was the relief for stoic and tired firefighters struggling non-stop for some sort of containment against winds that refused to cease.

There wasn’t enough rainfall to extinguish the wildfires throughout North and South Carolina but it helped. Even humid air helps an out of control fire slow its course.

What else helped was the outpouring of support from local communities from around the country. Choppers and planes— most notably an enormous DC-10 Air Tanker—dropped a staggering 9,400 gallons of fire retardant over flames that were ravaging the mountainside towards Saluda.

I’m always amazed and grateful how neighbors turned out to help. As a matter of fact, the vintage car club of which Paul is a member, decided before a recent event at the Tryon International Equestrian Center, that it might be helpful for firefighters if each driver brought a donation of bottled water, Gatorade, protein bars— anything needed.

Granted, the trunk— excuse, me, ‘boot’—of a 1964 Morgan or ‘52 MG might only offer enough room to stow a modest wicker picnic basket, but when you combine 60 of them, the total of which pulled into their designated parking spaces at TIEC, in the end, there were enough donations to fill the bed of a pick up truck. Our truck, actually, as it was found that so many citizens had already donated to the same cause that the spokeswoman for Polk county, profusely thanking everyone online, also requested no more donations would be accepted as there was no more space to store them.

What a wonderful problem to have.

Undeterred, Paul and his fellow club chums transferred their stash into the bed of our Ford upon learning that a church in Traveler’s Rest was still taking donations for the fire crews. “Their eyes popped out when they saw what we were dropping off,” enthused Paul’s pal, Judd.

“Plus there were still plenty of people behind us dropping off donations.” added Paul.

And driving home not too long ago from Black Mountain, where I had been teaching a dressage clinic, I nearly had to pull over to dab my eyes upon the heavenly sight of no fewer than 15 tractor trailer loads of hay, American flags planted firmly in those big round bales, on their way up the grade to drop off to the cattle farmers and horse stables that were devastated by Hurricane Helene.

Yes, sometimes it does feel as though the plight of our states has been forgotten by the media and politicians. But not to those who really matter. Not to the ones who keep rolling up their sleeves to help. Not to the ones who call the Carolinas home. Ya’ll done good.