We have come a long way from the feeling of utter despair that I felt that first night, huddled on the soaked couch with wet dogs, drywall and insulation falling all around us and buckets of rain falling outside. If anything, these things are supposed to bring a community together and it has. The help people are offering us is tremendous.

The time spent with the dogs in these close quarters, that night in panicked evacuation, the following days of uncertainty and now in an entirely new routine for all of us has increased our bond as one big pack. It is an incredible sight to see the dogs begin to pick up on what's happening and assisting in adapting to the adversity we face. There have been times I've sat on the couch full of panic and dread, completely drained and Tiny Tot has just pressed her ear against my chest and leaned into me, showing me we will be OK. I used to and still do sing to her. She was a sickly puppy that could not nurse and I spent many hours attempting to get food in her. When I would return from a day at work I was sure she would be dead. The line, "one more night could kill me baby" from You and Tequila seemed so fitting at the time because every night I would take care of her thinking the next she would die. And it was killing me inside. Now she's the one taking care of me as we await our farm's fate.

Last night a friend on the fire department told me water has receded to the previous record of Hurricane Matthew, the storm that devistated Currie, the storm we still had not recovered from when Florence hit. Some estimates of returning home are as soon as five days. Others are two weeks. As of today there are still rivers and creeks flowing through washed out portions of the highway home. When the water is low enough, our drive will be considerably longer than the 45 minutes it used to take to get to work and to town. Only once we are home on the farm can we begin the long road of recovery. For now we wait with each other with the realization that this is all we have.