What Hurricane Cleanup Taught This Dad About Nature and Healing (And Why It Changed How I Think About Our Home)

I never expected to learn one of my most important parenting lessons while pulling waterlogged drywall out of a stranger’s kitchen. But there I was, three weeks after Hurricane Florence hit North Carolina, volunteering with a cleanup crew because my company had given us paid disaster relief days and it seemed like the right thing to do.

The destruction was overwhelming – I mean, we see it on the news, but being there in person was different. Houses gutted to the studs, family photos turned to mush, kids’ toys scattered in mud-caked yards. As a dad, seeing all those destroyed children’s bedrooms really got to me. I kept thinking about my own kids safe at home and how traumatic this must be for the families living through it.

But what really stuck with me wasn’t the physical damage. It was this look in people’s eyes – like they’d lost more than just their stuff. They’d lost their sense that home was a safe place. I recognized it because I’d seen hints of it in my own kids during stressful times – that lost, disconnected feeling when everything familiar gets disrupted.

There was this woman, Marianne, whose house we were working on. She’d barely said two words to our crew all morning. Then suddenly she stopped what she was doing and pointed through where her kitchen wall used to be. “My grandmother planted that magnolia tree,” she said quietly. “And it’s still here.”

That tree became her anchor point. Every morning when we showed up, there she was sitting under it with her coffee. By the time we finished the job, she’d dragged a bench over there permanently. “This is where I’m starting over,” she told me.

That got me thinking about something I’d been noticing with my own kids but hadn’t really put together. When they’re stressed or overwhelmed – big test at school, friendship drama, even just too much screen time – they calm down fastest when we go outside. My daughter will literally do her homework under our backyard oak tree when she’s struggling to focus inside. My son, who has ADHD, has his best behavior days when he’s spent time in our garden before school.

I started reading about this when I got home (you know how I get when something catches my interest). Turns out there’s actual research on how nature helps people recover from trauma. After the Christchurch earthquake, they found that people who had access to parks and green spaces had way less PTSD than folks stuck in concrete temporary housing. Same thing happened after Hurricane Sandy.

Makes sense when you think about it. Disasters mess with your basic sense of safety and control – and being around plants and trees literally changes your stress hormones. I’d been seeing this with my kids for years without realizing what was happening. When they’re in “fight or flight” mode about something, twenty minutes outside usually shifts them back to normal.

But here’s what really bothered me about what I saw during that volunteer trip. The disaster response was amazing at getting people housed and fed – they had those FEMA trailers set up within days, power restored, food distribution running smoothly. But they’d placed all the temporary housing on this big asphalt parking lot. No trees, no plants, not even some flower pots. Just trailers, concrete, and chain link fence.

Six weeks later, I heard from one of the local volunteers that mental health issues were through the roof. Anxiety, depression, kids not sleeping. When someone suggested adding some plants or garden areas, the response was basically “we’re dealing with real problems here, not landscaping.”

That attitude drives me crazy because it’s exactly backwards. After seeing how much environment affects my own kids’ mental health, I know this stuff isn’t decoration – it’s as important as the other basics.

I ended up getting involved with a group that was trying a different approach after flooding in Louisiana. We created what we called “pocket gardens” – basically small natural spaces right in the temporary housing areas. Nothing fancy – some raised beds with local plants between the housing units, a few trees for shade, window boxes for families who wanted them.

The difference was incredible. People started gathering around those little garden areas. Kids played there. One older guy told me that taking care of the herbs in his window box was “the only normal thing left” in his life. A mom said watching butterflies visit the flowers was the first time her daughter had smiled since the flood.

The coolest thing we did was “salvage gardens” – rescuing plants from people’s damaged yards and replanting them in community spaces. These weren’t just random plants; they were pieces of family history. Rose bushes passed down from grandmothers, fruit trees planted when kids were born, herb gardens that had fed families for years.

Taking cuttings from flood-damaged gardens and helping them grow again became this powerful healing thing for people. It was like saving part of their old life while starting their new one.

Now, I get that disaster zones are chaotic and resources are stretched thin. Adding “plant care” to emergency response probably sounds ridiculous when people need food and shelter. But here’s the thing – the emotional recovery starts immediately, not months later when the rebuilding begins. And we’re missing huge opportunities to help people heal by treating nature connection as a luxury instead of a necessity.

I’ve learned there are ways to do this even in crisis situations. When possible, put temporary housing near existing green spaces instead of on parking lots. Even just being able to see trees from your window helps reduce stress. Rescue plants and seeds during cleanup – it preserves adapted local species and gives people continuity. Use fast-growing stuff like native grasses and container gardens to create immediate natural connections. And definitely include damaged natural landmarks in recovery planning.

That last one really hit home when I saw a community fight to save their historic town square oak tree after a hurricane. It was badly damaged, and everyone wanted to cut it down for safety. But the residents organized to have it properly pruned and supported instead. Kids tied get-well messages to the branches, and it became this symbol of the whole town’s recovery.

Three years later, when the tree was healthy again, they threw a huge celebration under it. “If it can survive and keep growing, so can we,” one of the residents told me.

This stuff has completely changed how I think about our home environment and my kids’ resilience. I used to focus mostly on making our house look nice or function well. Now I think about it as building their emotional foundation for handling whatever life throws at them.

We’ve always had plants and spent time outdoors, but I’m way more intentional about it now. When my daughter was struggling with anxiety in middle school, we created a special corner in our backyard where she could go to decompress – just a comfortable chair surrounded by plants she helped choose. When my son’s ADHD symptoms get worse during stressful periods, we make sure his daily outdoor time is non-negotiable.

I even look at their school differently now. All those windowless classrooms and concrete playgrounds aren’t just ugly – they’re missing opportunities to help kids stay emotionally regulated and resilient. I’ve gotten involved with some PTA committees trying to add more plants and natural elements to our school environment.

The research keeps backing this up. Kids who have regular access to nature bounce back faster from stress, focus better, sleep better. It’s not magic – it’s just working with human biology instead of against it.

After a small apartment fire displaced several families in our neighborhood last year, I worked with a local garden center to provide small plants to each family in their temporary housing. Nothing expensive – spider plants, pothos, small succulents. One woman later told me she talked to her little spider plant every morning, “telling it we were both going to make it through this rough patch.” That $8 plant became her daily reminder that growth and healing were possible.

As climate change makes extreme weather more common, I think this becomes even more important for our kids. They’re going to face more disruptions, more uncertainty, more reasons to feel like the world isn’t stable. Having that deep connection to nature – understanding that life persists and renews itself even after disasters – is going to be crucial for their resilience.

The good news is that awareness is growing. Even FEMA now includes recommendations about preserving natural views and green space access in their temporary housing guidelines. More disaster relief organizations are including plants and gardens in their recovery work.

For those of us not working in disaster zones, there are still ways to help. When communities near us face disasters, we can advocate for saving trees during cleanup, donate native plant seeds, push for temporary housing that has at least some connection to nature, or just acknowledge that losing beloved trees and gardens is real trauma that deserves recognition.

But mostly, this experience taught me that nature heals in ways nothing else can. When normal life gets torn apart – whether it’s a hurricane or just the everyday storms of growing up – those connections help us remember that we’re part of something bigger and more enduring than whatever crisis we’re facing.

As Marianne told me under her grandmother’s magnolia tree: “Storms come and go, but trees know how to keep standing. I’m learning from this old girl every day.” That’s wisdom I’m trying to pass on to my kids, one garden project at a time.