Orange is blessed with some very special residents. They are the town volunteers who commit themselves as firefighters, intergenerational tutors, food pantry organizers; they assist the elderly, chaperone events, serve on decorating committees, collect food and supplies for the needy, sit on Advisory Boards, and much more. And in doing so they leave their mark as memorable.
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Volunteers are a unique entity – they seem to possess an inner call of conscientiousness that eludes most of us. They come to town events, meetings, sporting games, an array of club-directed activities, and more.
They ask for nothing except to be part of what is going on and in some way allow themselves to be utilized toward higher purpose. To volunteers, it is all a natural way of life, uncomplicated, uncompromised: there is a need and they will close the gap. Volunteers are the straws that stir accomplishment. Sometimes they are like unseen phantoms that stand in the back of the room but wind up being the essential spark of it all.
They always seem to be smiling within, happy and generous souls that reach for stars and bring them back to earth, sharing them as a gift to those in need. Volunteers really ask nothing in return. They just show up. They show us the true meaning of self-sacrifice, humility of heart, belief in the common good. They become apparent as jacks of all trades, seers displaying the gift of a simple good heart. Bringing their own experiences they fit the pieces of the puzzle. And the aura of selflessness shines brightly complementing the angels in disguise around us.
Volunteers gather canned food items to feed the hungry, knit wool blankets to kill the chill, hold the fort when there is a threat of collapse. They freely impart bits and pieces of themselves to others having a rough day, just do things when not asked, become a little embarrassed when credit is given them even if it is justified.
Who are they? Ancestors of a different drummer? Dancers to a different tune? Do they look in a mirror and see not themselves but instead visions of accomplishment as the fruit of their labors.
They always sleep well at night; always wear smiles instead of chips upon shoulders. Volunteers are always there born of a spirit that is like the wind you can’t see, but you always feel its effect. They shadow the essence of pioneers long ago of a small town striving to sustain itself and in doing so, they become Legends of the Fall in their own right. Maybe once in a while we should volunteer in return to offer up ourselves to help them when needed. What goes around comes around.