I first posted this as a comment under a thought leader question about summer memories, but I decided to put it here because the experience played a large part in shaping who I am.

With a massive hurricane coming towards us, the shrimp fleet did the only thing it could do - travel inland. The entire fleet, a line of boats stretching as far as the eye could see, sailed into rivers and canals of Louisiana, some so narrow we could jump off the boat to shore, and so shallow we were afraid we'd ground. It was bumper to bumper traffic at rush hour, moving ahead inch by inch as each boat made its way through locks necessary to counter different water levels; a frantic race against time played out in super slow motion. Tensions were high, but we were confident we could beat the storm. We'd had to move out fast and had not had time to stock supplies, so we were running low. Our first mate had a bicycle on board, and at every lock, he'd toss the bike to the shore and run to the grocery to bring us back as much food as he could carry. 

The one thing that struck me the most was the support of the people who lived on the canals and the rivers we traversed. They came out to watch the novelty parade of these relatively large boats passing through their back yards. They yelled words of encouragement and hope, they prayed for us, and many brought us supplies. The generosity of these people impresses me to this day. We were shrimpers, much lower on the social scale than anyone who could afford a house on a river or canal. We were filthy, unkempt, hungry...and there were a lot of us, hundreds of boats, and the support just kept coming. The people on shore were facing the same peril from the storm, but as they made their own preparations, they took the time to reach out to people literally in their own back yards who were in desperate need of help. We probably would not have starved without them, but we certainly would have been hungry. We had run out of ice days before and had only tepid, stale water left to drink. One boy about my age came running out to hand me a bag of sandwiches and cold Coca-Colas. I can't remember another drink in my life that I enjoyed more than that cold Coke.

I wonder if people who help in a crisis know that almost 40 years later, the support they gave still matters. It wasn't just the food and drinks. They gave us hope and kept our spirits up...and made an indelible impression on a little girl who still believes that helping others is the right thing to do. The only thing to do.