Editor’s note: The following is provided to the Herald about the flood-fighting effort in Fargo and is written by the Williston High School teacher who is the adviser for the students who produce the weekly Teen Page each Thursday in the Herald. The Tee

Editor’s note: The following is provided to the Herald about the flood-fighting effort in Fargo and is written by the Williston High School teacher who is the adviser for the students who produce the weekly Teen Page each Thursday in the Herald. The Teen Page appears on page 10 in today’s issue.

FARGO -- “Discover the Spirit.” That’s what the license plates read in the state of North Dakota, a quiet, rural state that takes pride in its relative anonymity.

But this past week, people all around the nation are finding out just what North Dakota is all about. With the Red River rising to record-setting levels and thousands of homes in its path, the residents of Fargo had two choices �“ stay and fight or take what they could and flee the city.

And in the face of the ice-cold water that was rising by the minute and the frigid temperatures in the low teens, volunteers braved the elements and put fear aside as they desperately tried to save their community. My story is one of many. I got a call asking if I wanted to go to Fargo to try to help. My brother’s home, I found out after mistakenly thinking he was far enough away from the river to have to worry, was only four blocks from the flood diversion zone in south Fargo.

So, thanks to supportive colleagues who agreed to cover my classes and an understanding principal who allowed me to take Friday off, I hopped in the pickup with my husband and two other friends to make the trek to Fargo to try to help in any way we could. After a six-hour drive that turned into a seven-and-a-half hour drive due to glare ice on the roads, we arrived in Fargo at 3:45 a.m. on Friday.

By 8 a.m. we were up for breakfast and getting our winter gear ready. Unsure of what to do next, we dialed the volunteer hotline to get our “marching orders.”

An hour later, we finally got through and found out we would head to Oakport Township north of Moorhead. The hotline reported it had the largest need for volunteers. The four of us from Williston and my brother and his pregnant wife all squeezed into the pickup to try to make a difference.

What we saw was breathtaking in many ways. Water was everywhere and it was visibly getting higher. But what was more amazing were the hundreds of parked cars that lined the highway, their occupants formed lines to move 40-pound sandbags up a hill to waiting four-wheelers with trailers who were distributing the sandbags among the homes in the area.

We joined the line and passed the bags until there were no more, and then we walked along the neighborhood looking for other places to help. After walking for half a mile, an official told us to wait for a trailer to pick us up to drive us into a flooded area.

We loaded into a horse trailer to cross the water-covered road and jumped out in a dry area. At the first house we stopped at, about 10 people were there waiting for sandbags, so they offered us bottled water and suggested we check down the street with their neighbors to see if we could be of assistance anywhere else.

Across the street, we found a house that had sandbags and only one person trying to lay a row of bags over a plastic tarp that surrounded the house. We asked if we could help, and the tired gentlemen gladly took us up on our offer.

We made small talk while we worked, strangers joined in the common cause of fighting the forces of Mother Nature. After finishing the house, one of the neighbors asked if they could take our pictures to help remember the occasion. We smiled for a photo and headed on to the next home. I never got their names, but I pray that what we did made a difference for that family.

At the end of the street, another example of the spirit showed up when a white truck with the Salvation Army logo painted across it stopped near a group of workers. The back opened and two women emerged with hot chocolate, coffee, homemade ham sandwiches, small bags of chips, rice crispy treats, granola bars and other supplies to feed the weary workers.

We walked over and re-energized with some hot chocolate, and then we found a ride through the flooded streets to get back to our vehicle. The 20-minute ride back to Fargo turned into 40 minutes after approaching detour after detour due to flooded roads and man-made dikes attempting to hold back the mighty river.

Finally,we arrived at a restaurant near my brother’s home and decided to refuel before calling the volunteer line again. We trudged in with our boots, coveralls, hats, scarves, gloves and winter jackets and took up two tables with all our supplies. Our waitress came to take our drink order and reminded us the water had a strange taste, so we all ordered sodas without ice to quench our thirst.

As we were getting ready to leave, the waitress brought over the booklet with our check and whispered in my brother’s ear. We all wrestled over the check so we could pay our share, so when he told us to pass it around the table quietly, we wondered what was happening. What I saw inside brought tears to my eyes. Instead of a bill, there was a hand-written note thanking us for all we are doing to help and telling us that our meals were on the house that day.

The amazing perseverance and spirit of the people of North Dakota were evident numerous times during the weekend. People of all walks of life �“ young and old, from hours or houses away, there without pay or without promise of reward �“ came together to help in the battle against the “Red.”

The national media personnel who were flown in to cover the impending disaster found a story about the spirit of the people in the state of North Dakota and why the motto on our license plates truly represents us.