At approximately 9 p.m. on Friday, February 3, a Norfolk Southern train derailed in East Palestine—a thoroughfare for trains running across the country. I heard sirens, which is not uncommon here in East Palestine, but they were constant for hours. My tiny home is surrounded on two sides by a big old concrete building that blocks some of the sounds from town—as well as the view—but I knew that something major was happening. My friends who went to the Catholic school that used to be here would often mention that the nuns would have them say a Hail Mary every time they heard a siren. I do occasionally do this, but that night was different. It was between 5 and 6 degrees all night long. A non-stop convoy of emergency vehicles was arriving from all directions. I kept thinking about the first responders in these vehicles. At this point, I had no idea what happened.
Word got out that there was a massive train derailment. The train of approximately 150 cars was enroute from Madison, Illinois, to Conway, Pennsylvania. According to the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB), 38 cars derailed, causing a fire and smoke that was unlike anything any of us had seen before. The resulting red sky was visible in surrounding towns, miles away. Horrible smoke filled the air and covered the town and outlying farmlands.
First responders from three states and more than 35 departments were on scene. Fighting a fire of that magnitude can be deadly, especially because of the bone-chilling temperatures. And even worse, as they found out, many of the wrecked cars were transporting a highly toxic chemical, vinyl chloride. They eventually learned that even more hazardous toxins were on that train. It was so dangerous that the firefighters had to be pulled back from the immediate vicinity. I went outside to see if I could see any signs of what was happening, but my view was blocked. The 5-degree air hurt my lungs, but even more noticeable was the stench and irritation of the thick smoke. I went back into my house. My throat burned for a few hours after only being outside for five minutes.
I live with my old gal, Hunter, a Schipperke mix rescue dog, as well as four cats I ‘adopted’ (or rather, they adopted me). We all sat around, watching the TV, while I had my eyes glued to the internet to keep up with the current, and ever changing, situation. The beasties do not really watch TV—they just sit near me at all times.
I have been a news junkie my entire life, even as a child, because I want to be well-informed about what is happening in the world. I never understood how people just choose to never watch the news. It can be scary at times but, in my opinion, hiding from it can cause some people to live with even more fear. I believe that the unknown is scarier than the known. So there I was, watching and reading the news. As the enormity of the disaster was unfolding, I tried to mentally prepare myself for all the possibilities of what might happen.
My friends know that I use humor to get through hard times and scary moments. My timing may appear inappropriate to some, but my nerves can cause a constant stream of terrible puns or bad language, which is unfortunate for anyone within hearing distance of my big mouth. Well, for several days, my animals heard a lot, and they are a good audience when nobody else is around.
I started to post slightly uplifting things on Facebook. For instance, one morning, my toast was shaped like a heart! Naturally, I had to take a photo and post it. I posted a meme of Will Ferrell with a massive flaming inferno in the background (much like our train wreck inferno) with him saying, “you want to see pictures of my cat?” Of course, they were just temporary levity, but if there is anything that makes me happy, it is putting a smile on someone’s face when they need it.
The toxic train fire continued for days. The firefighters’ PPE and gear were so contaminated that they had to be disposed of. I cannot imagine what all the first responders were going through, especially when everyone that lived within one mile of the wreck were asked to evacuate, which included some of their own families. Our Fire Department is volunteer. These brave souls gave of themselves repeatedly and continue to do so.
Over the course the first couple days, residents of East Palestine and just over the border in Pennsylvania, which was within the evacuation zone, began to leave—The derailment was only 600 feet from the Pennsylvania border. It was not mandatory at this point.
There is a lot of farmland where the train derailed, so not only families, but also livestock, were in danger. As the cars carrying the vinyl chloride continued to heat, while the fire was still burning, the train cars became unstable.
It became clear that an explosion was imminent. When I heard that, I was shaken. I was only 158.5 feet outside of the evacuation zone. We were warned to shelter in place. I began to pack a few things for my dog and me. I only had one cat carrier (and I would not be able to catch them all anyway). I knew I had enough supplies to last us at least a few days in the house. But by Sunday night, I took Hunter and went to stay with my friends who lived outside of town. I was a nervous wreck being away from home and leaving the cats. I knew that I would probably not be able to get back to them if things continued the way they were, so I went back home after a couple of hours.
After the evacuation order became mandatory, my street was the closest one to the evacuation zone on the west side of town that did not need to be evacuated. I cannot describe what East Palestine was like at that time. “Surreal” would be an understatement. Picture an apocalyptic movie. Police and State Troopers were here from surrounding cities. The National Guard came in with armored vehicles and surrounded the town. All roads were blocked off. Nobody was allowed in. All through Sunday night and into Monday, vehicles with loudspeakers drove through town, blaring the message that the situation had become an emergency and evacuation was mandatory. Police and the National Guard were knocking on doors and banging on windows of the homes that were not evacuated. The governor had declared a state of emergency and people were being arrested on the spot for not evacuating within the one-mile zone. People with children were told that if they refused to leave, they would be arrested for child endangering and other charges. Although evacuation wasn’t mandatory for me, if I had kids here, I definitely would have gone.
A controlled explosion of the vinyl chloride was the only way to save the town and its people. It was a terrifying choice, but there was no other. As you probably already know, Norfolk Southern brought in a group to do what nobody else could do. They somehow blasted quarter-size holes in the five unstable cars with the vinyl chloride. Then, the liquid toxins were drained out into a special ditch that was dug specifically for this purpose. The chemicals were burned off using pre-set flares in the ditch. If it did not go correctly, it would have been a disaster of epic proportions, with mass casualties. The alternative, however—the cars exploding on their own—would have sent tons of shrapnel and toxic chemicals at least a mile in all directions, killing people, animals and destroying homes and businesses.
Nobody said that the controlled explosion was safe. It was far from that. When vinyl chloride burns, it turns into to two deadly chemicals, one of which is the mustard gas that was used to kill thousands of people in World War I. This gas hovers near the ground and gets trapped in low-lying areas and basements. However, because the controlled burn went as planned, the plume of deadly toxins wound up going straight up into the sky, beyond the clouds, where they eventually dissipated.
That day, I got Hunter to go to my friend’s house in Rogers. As I was leaving my house, and my four other critters, I drove down the alley to the top of the hill overlooking the park. Our park was being used as a staging area for local, state, and now federal organizations, including the EPA. I looked at Hunter and said, “well girl, if it is safe enough for them, let’s stay and hunker down at home.”
As I looked up, I saw the giant black plume over the town. Being only a mile away, I could see how massive it was. I flew back to the house, which was only seconds away, and threw Hunter in and sealed the door shut. I watched the controlled burn (an oxymoron, if I ever heard one) via a live broadcast from a news helicopter.
It went exactly as planned. If it hadn’t, I wouldn’t be writing this right now. I know that this could have been an environmental disaster for years to come. As a farmer, an archaeologist, and an environmentally conscious person, it is hard for me to say that they had to destroy some of our Earth to save even more of it. It is still hard to wrap my head around it all.
I was one of the lucky ones. I did not have to leave my animals as so many people did, who couldn’t get back to them for so long. People think that I am nuts, but I do not regret sheltering in place with them. If I had gotten the knock at the door in the middle of the night, yes, I would have had to evacuate, but thankfully I did not have to.
I am leaving out a lot of what I initially thought I would talk about when I went to write this. But sometimes, we go through something that is so deeply-felt and personal that there are no words. I did agree to a short interview on the news, as long as Hunter got to be on camera. She was cute as a button—an aging button, but adorable nonetheless. We have been on a lot of different stations, I hear.
There have been even more reporters here these past few weeks! The lines are super long at McDonalds because of it.
Most people are back to work. Some folks have not returned to their homes yet, and they have their reasons. As I said in my interview, yes, I was scared, but I have lived through other disasters, so I have learned to take it all in stride. I am not panicked, but so many others are. I think that we all need to be cautious and make ourselves aware of the facts.
I am going to focus on the unbelievable good that people have done for each other. First and foremost, our mayor, the fire chief, the police, and all our first responders are absolute heroes. People, churches, and organizations are donating in numbers like I’ve never seen. Folks from all around the country are offering their homes and farms to those of us that need a place to stay or a place to keep their livestock for now. Priests, nuns, seminarians, Catholic Charities, old friends, new, and even strangers have reached out to me to pray and offer support for me and my fellow townsfolk. We need it, and I truly appreciate every one of them. I am a member of Our Lady of Lourdes Parish in East Palestine. My faith has given me comfort and strength. I know that I am not alone.
This is really just the beginning of our new normal—at least for a while. I hope and pray that this does not become the doomsday that it could have been. The town’s water supply and the air here have been testing okay so far. Unfortunately, the streams have been contaminated and there is a worry about the well water. I have not heard of any soil testing, which is so vital at this point. We want the kids to be able to safely play in our yards again.
For three or four days after the derailment and ensuing inferno and explosion, there wasn’t a bird to be seen nor heard near me. After several days, they slowly began to come back to the feeder. The squirrels came back shortly thereafter. I breathed a little sigh of relief that day.
These past few weeks, Dylan Thomas kept popping into my head so I think I will conclude with some words from his poem that I have always loved, which has become so relevant to me recently: “Do not go gentle into that good night … Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
