Three. Hours. Lost. On a mountain. In Montana. You getting this? It was a long three hours on that mountain.

It was getting dark and I was low on fuel. The road changed quickly from narrow and paved to narrower and rock. Then gravel. Then dirt. It was getting a little sketchy. I’m pretty sure every movie that begins this way leads to a gruesome death followed by an hour and a half of terror on screen. I took a risk going up on that mountain.

About this time last year I was making coffee at a bookstore for overprivileged, ungrateful mallrats. I left that job out of occupational frustration to volunteer full-time at the Red Cross last August. It was a huge risk; I would end the only job I had to become a volunteer in hopes it would lead to something better. Something bigger. Something meaningful.

In a way, it did. I worked hard. Very hard. And in January I became an AmeriCorps VISTA (Volunteers in Service to America), which is sort of like the domestic Peace Corps. I was assigned to the Red Cross, so I got to stay where I was already volunteering. The job came with no control and no salary; instead it carried year-long job security and a “living allowance” of $10,700. About what I’d make in a year at the bookstore in the mall, but with 200 times the responsibility and 40+ hours a week. It meant responding to disasters. Tornadoes. Fires. Late nights and early mornings. Shooting from the hip and bending the rules. And still. Hard work and minimal pay.

We joke that we get paid in pennies* and hugs. (*Bring your own pennies.) I work hard to keep what I have. I risked a lot to get where I am. I don’t want to lose it. But I also want more. I’ll be thirty years old in the next two weeks. Thirty.

Four years ago I went up on a mountain because it seemed like the thing to do. Low on fuel and headed into the sunset, it was a risky move. Last year I quit my dead-end (but paying) job to start a career. I don’t know if going up on that mountain was worth the risk. I’m not better off having been up there. I got a picture and a story. The last year? Tonight, if you’ll allow me a little leeway, I find myself wondering if that risk will pay off. All I know right now is that it was better than making coffee for a living.

The Red Cross offers assistance after disasters like the tornado in Butler, and almost all of that assistance is provided through volunteer caseworkers deployed into affected communities. Above you see photos from Deer Park, Alabama. The same storm system that produced tornadoes in Butler also devastated Deer Park in south Washington County. As an AmeriCorps VISTA, it is my responsibility to recruit and train volunteers for the Alabama Gulf Coast Chapter. These volunteers, like Roger and Wanda Reetz, Pamela Schnitzler, and Brenda Bivens (all seen above) graciously give their time to serve in disaster-affected communities. It’s through Roger and Wanda Reetz that I’ve learned about disaster response.

Wednesday night I wrote a small story about what it means to be a VISTA (think of it as the domestic Peace Corps) with the Red Cross as part of an assignment given to me by AmeriCorps.

Last week, in the middle of tornado response, I spoke to a stroke support group at a local hospital. The topic was disaster preparedness. Soon, I’ll be speaking to a senior citizen group in Grand Bay, Alabama about the same. Tonight, as I write this story, I’m tuned to the news. A tornado ripped through Tuscaloosa and devastated the west side of Birmingham this evening. Our wonderful, but overworked, volunteers are already preparing to deploy northward.

On Thursday workers in Choctaw County, where in addition to the Butler tornado of two weeks ago, we now have 20 more damaged homes. The first of our chapter’s volunteers to Birmingham and Tuscaloosa deployed Friday and Saturday.

A year ago I was working for the Census. In August I quit my job with Books-A-Million to become a full-time volunteer with the American Red Cross, Alabama Gulf Coast Chapter. They brought me on as an AmeriCorps VISTA in January. The jobs I had over the last year are necessary. Someone’s got to do them. But…

With the Red Cross, you can be the best part of someone’s worst day.

And that sure as hell beats making coffee for a living.

The following is the story Cennie Jackson (bottom right, in white) told me in Butler, Alabama the Monday after a tornado ripped down her street and destroyed her home (top left).

“Let’s take a ride.” Those were the words Stacy Jackson spoke to his wife just hours before a tornado ripped through their mobile home in Butler, Alabama. Stacy’s wife, Cennie, called her husband to come home during severe thunderstorms in Choctaw County on April 15, 2011. Instead, Stacy suggested the couple take a drive out of town for a while. The decision probably saved their lives.

Upon returning to their home, the Jacksons realized they would be starting over. The American Red Cross was in Choctaw County assessing damage in the days immediately following the tornado. Using it as an in-depth opportunity to train new volunteers in damage assessment and client casework, I was partnered with Pamela Schnitzler (top left). We navigated our way around downed branches to the Jacksons’ home.

Off its foundation with one tree across the left side, the home was severely damaged. Another tree missed the right side of the home by mere feet. Windows were blown out. The front door was off its hinges; the doorframe separated from the rest of the building by several inches.

We met Cennie and Stacy in their neighbor’s front yard. Cennie spoke of their future in Butler. “We’ll start over. We’ve done it before, and we’ll just have to do it again.”

You’ve probably been inundated with Katrina memorials, specials, and documentaries this past week. The media (and many regular folks), especially those who spent time in New Orleans during and after Katrina, don’t want you to forget what happened. It’s not about how much Katrina cost ($81 billion). The economic factor is minimal compared to the 1,836 people who lost their lives. It’s about all the families who returned to New Orleans and all the towns along the Mississippi Gulf Coast to rebuild their lives. It’s about making sure this kind of thing doesn’t happen again. Hurricanes happen. All of us along the Coast know that. But what we saw in New Orleans in the days after the wind subsided was unnecessary and inhumane. So we beg you to remember what happened. Remember so it doesn’t happen again.