The Transformative Terror Of Hurricane IAN (Part One)
Like Millions of Florida Residents, I Was Affected Outwardly, What I Didn't Expect Was To Be Transformed Inwardly
Photo by JD Designs on Unsplash
It was a little over a week ago, when, relaxing in front of the computer with a cup of coffee, I was perusing the day’s news, and started seeing notices about a Tropical Storm which was rapidly gaining strength, causing concern that it could possibly develop into a major hurricane, on a direct path to Florida.
I am no stranger to bad weather, especially the horribly violent “Nor’easters” of Maine and New England, where I spent 25 years watching high winds, ice, sleet, snow, rain, and hail, as well as combinations thereof, take down power poles and blow up transformers. If you have ever watched this phenomenon from a safe distance, as the wind howls, lights flicker, and your heart drops in your stomach, knowing your warmth, safety, and security are no longer there, you know exactly what I mean.
Moving to Florida, I was sure that my veteran’s experience with multiple “tree on line/power down/power out” emergencies, fiddling with generators and their vagaries, (the one I used in Maine was never reliable, the equivalent of a used car “lemon”) and surviving a historical North American ice storm in 1998 would equip me to handle the psychological impact.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
My first hurricanes inevitably came, and, never having experienced the heart-in-your-throat anxiety and uncertainty, especially with mandatory evacuation orders, I overreacted the first time as I brought some of my most precious possessions to my temporary shelter, hauling them in multiple trips to a relative’s house in a “safer” area.
Having lost everything I owned or that had value in a house fire in Maine years before, I suppose I was a bit on the defensive. I imagined my precious drums and music gear being blown away as the aging roof of my modest house blew off.
I knew what it felt like to be a victim of a disaster, having nothing but the clothes on your back and the money in your wallet, and being instantly houseless with nowhere to go. My employer at the time, co-workers, and the community supported me and my partner at the time, but the terror and fear were, and are, never quite tamed. Magically, it seemed, a house became available and our residence was rebuilt. Uncertainty seemingly resolved itself.
I had also seen the damage my first Florida employer suffered to their business from the same storms firsthand. I watched the insurance companies hedge and tap dance around repairing damage, despite premiums being paid on time and in full. Damage from one hurricane was never repaired as another made it worse. Years of horrible leaking roofs and permanent building damage resulted from their inaction.
IAN set new standards, as most people are probably aware by now. The levels of destruction to the Southwest Coast are unprecedented if, as I heard one weathercaster say, IAN is a once in every 500 year hurricane. I have no way to measure the accuracy of that statement.
IAN was the first Hurricane I spent alone, and as the interminable wait to see where the storm would make landfall passed, my fear and anxiety grew. The storm was 500 miles wide, and my city/area was in its path. The weather people were fairly certain we would see, at minimum, days of pounding torrential rain, flooding, and storm surges.
I had personally re-roofed a section of my house a year or more before, with some advice from professional roofers who inspected the work, using “rolled roofing” that was designed to be impervious to Hurricane force winds. No separate shingles or tiles to become projectiles. That material, indeed held. A Summer of heavy thunderstorms and there was no leaking.
Unfortunately, the first 24 to 30 hours of torrential, pounding rain, became worse when the 45 to 70 MPH gusts came through, at that point, I did see some minor leaking. The wind was blowing precipitation sideways, trees were bending and creaking, and the hiss of the gusts was perpetual. Two miles away from my location due East, in the Historic Districts of Saint Augustine, it was worse. FAR worse.
I heard someone say on the news that when it comes to sustained wind gusts, there is no leakproof roof.
Sitting and waiting another 20 hours for IAN to subside was nerve-wracking and anxious, but slowly, gradually, as Thursday evening approached, the wind started to die down and the rain subsided. Like most people at that point, I breathed a sigh of relief and turned to escapism. I was mentally and physically exhausted, mainly from worry, and I found a TV drama and started to become absorbed in the storyline.
Then, I heard a horrible, slow, loud groaning sound, and an explosion. The lights simultaneously winked out and everything was silent and dark. I cautiously opened my front door to see a massive Oak tree, due to ground saturation of immense proportions, had uprooted and pulled down the power pole nearest to me, and the live line was wildly arcing and smoking in the process of shorting out. My supply line for electricity and cable was down in the driveway.
I had, just hours before, for no apparent reason, become situationally aware, noticing my vehicle was directly underneath the very power line that was now presenting a lethal danger. I moved it before the worst of the winds came. I can’t imagine what would have become of my vehicle had that line fallen across the car. Shudder to think is an understatement.
Things don’t matter, however, human life does, and despite being suddenly thrust into a completely terrifying, dangerous situation, I managed to call 911. I was breathing hard and shocked into semi-incoherence, but somehow I managed to explain what had happened, as I watched four more lines being pulled down accompanied by four more explosions. I yelled out to my elderly neighbors not to walk out into the street.
A terrifying but familiar feeling: I was in the same panic and despair that I experienced in other disasters, but, this time it seemed more lethal and dangerous. The stress and fear and uncertainty were through the roof. I spent a sleepless night as various power and emergency personnel came and went. The powerful floodlights on their vehicles provided a sense of false hope, lighting up the inky black darkness, where silhouettes of downed trees and frayed cable, now useless, invoked a sense of despair. A power company lineman came to cut the wires straining at the supply line socket to my house and simply said: “This will take a while, sir, all this has to be replaced”. Then. darkness and silence as they backed away from the scene. We were on our own to wait it out.
Indeed, as dawn approached, the damage was far worse, a neighbor literally had a power pole, streetlight intact, leaning on her roof. I imagined that it would take days, if not weeks, for the repair to take place
I had until this time been a fairly private person, not really interacting with my nearest neighbors except on rare occasions. Suddenly, this tragedy brought us out of our homes, and literally into the streets to comfort each other as best we could. My neighbors thanked me for responding, as it turns out none of them had cell phones, just landlines made instantly useless. I was the only link to any emergency response. I flashed back to my “premonition” of moving my vehicle before the power line came down and thought about fate putting me at this location at that moment in time.
The ritual of mutual aid and comfort continued over the next days, and with the sparse internet access I had available through my phone, I informed these kind, lovely ladies as best I could on what the response timeline would be. Their religious devotion, expressed in humility and gratitude that we were all standing in the street, alive and breathing had a profound effect on me. They openly said we would all look out for each other. It was a purely spiritual and soulfully honest sentiment. It reminded me that we are largely spending our lives in selfish pursuits and false worries that we have no control over. That we have little gratitude for a simple, peaceful existence, and little regard for each other as human beings.
My relatives seemingly sprung out of the woodwork to not only provide me food to share with my neighbors but future “disaster survival tools” like a hand-cranked radio. It’s not the things, but, again the outreach that has changed me. I have bonded back with estranged relatives. Ironically, all through tragedy. Why is it only tragedy that brings out, for the most part, the best in people?
Over the days, an incredible disaster response occurred. In less than six days, Florida Power and Light and their out-of-state partners arrived and rebuilt our “normal” lives. Rebuilding the cable infrastructure took a few more days. I am no fan of corporations, but it would be less than honest not to note when things go right. Specifically, it’s the workers who deserve the credit, and I certainly thanked them, face to face, personally and profusely. They arrived like the cavalry and gave us all hope.
There are people still digging out and people who have lost everything. Major landmarks are gone. Homes and businesses were destroyed. I can’t get it out of my head that something hopeful remains in human potential. More on that in Part Two.
Stay safe and be kind.