That morning, for example, a man named Walter had come in asking about the free mattress program set up by the local Catholic Diocese. About 1,500 mattresses had already been given out but Walter still didn’t have a place to sleep, and needed one. Ms. McCormick said she’d be calling on his behalf to work it out.

Alongside the mattresses, people donated clothing and money flowed in as well. A team of chaplains are still doing regular house calls to check on families’ spiritual and emotional needs. There was a program to give people new refrigerators and other appliances.

Ms. McCormick and the other volunteers made clear that there was also a fair amount of frustration. One insurer seemed to have included a clause in its contracts that allowed it to avoid paying certain claims. Some residential property owners seemed to have received more government help than others, which led to some grumbling. The group also estimated that 15 to 20 percent of businesses were still closed, including some banks.

Still, walking through town, eyeing the marks on utility poles showing the high-water mark from previous floods, it was hard not to notice the strength of the recovery. I’ve covered hurricanes in Florida and earthquakes in Haiti and Mexico. Rarely have I seen such a full revival so quickly.

At least in Lismore, Australia’s overall wealth and community can-do spirit seem to have created a dynamic of rapid resilience. In the United States and other countries I have worked in, it’s easier to fall from the middle class to destitution, especially in rural areas that struggle with some of the same agricultural churn as Lismore — where timber has died, dairy is dying and the macadamia industry can only do so much.

Even the support group seemed torn between advocating for improvement, and appreciating the capacity to rebuild.