I spent most of yesterday watching the progress of Tropical Storm Bonnie as it moved across our old haunts in S. Florida. Thankfully, it broke apart before moving into the Gulf and caused no problems here at Kelly's RV Park in White Springs. At one point it was throwing off severe thunderstorms with 40 mph+ winds as far North as Orlando, so we took the precaution of rolling in the awning to avoid any further damage. That effort proved to be unnecessary as we didn't receive even a drop of rain, but after living through ten summers in Florida I've learned the hard way it's better to be safe than sorry.
Watching the progression of that storm triggered some very intense flashbacks. For the majority of the past decade I lived in the towns of Pompano Beach and Hollywood, FL on barrier islands in apartments located two blocks from the ocean and bordering the Intracoastal waterway. Prime locations for being the first under mandatory evacuation orders when hurricanes arise.
Over those years I experienced seven named Hurricanes ranging in categories from 1 to 4, and more tropical storms and depressions than I can remember. I only evacuated once and will never repeat that choice again. It was during my first hurricane, which was approaching from the East, so I thought it wiser to head West for a stay with friends in Venice. Big mistake. What should have been at most a three hour drive turned into an eight hour nightmare. The entire stretch of Alligator Alley and I-75 was bumper-to-bumper traffic comprised of mostly panicked, impatient drivers. The kicker was that upon return to Pompano the storm caused very little damage except for heavy flooding in a few neighborhoods. After that I stayed put and rode out the hurricanes no matter how dire the predictions.
The good thing about hurricanes is that you know they're headed your way days in advance. You have time to prepare and, if you're smart, have already stockpiled the basic necessities of water, canned goods, batteries, ice and charcoal. The ones who aren't smart are the idiots you see on television trying to buy whatever is left on the shelves the day before the event. By that time, believe me, you're lucky to find anything except perishables and damaged cans of kidney beans. So you prepare, attach the protective shutters, watch the Weather Channel, attend a hurricane party and pray for the best.
The weird thing about tropical storms of any intensity is they have a mind of their own. No matter how dire the predictions, I've experienced tropical storms with more sever impacts than many hurricanes and watched hurricanes take paths totally opposite of what the National Hurricane Center projected. Most of the hurricanes kept people inside for a day, but except for a few downed trees and flooded streets were of little consequence. They quickly blow through and, after enough of them, you adopt a locals attitude of thinking, "Oh well, I've been through this before and it's no big deal."
After my fourth hurricane experience I developed the same attitude. I knew the routine, always stockpiled supplies and actually looked forward to the intense energies the storms produce. I became complacent.
And then, on October 24, 2005 Hurricane Wilma arrived.
I've been through tornadoes, spent seven days snowed-in after the Blizzard of 1978 moved through Northern Indiana and almost became trapped by a flash-flood while camping in the Hoosier National Forest. But I have never gone through a more powerful experience than Hurricane Wilma.
Wilma was the most intense hurricane ever recorded in the Atlantic basin and caught South Florida basically unprepared. It was the fifth hurricane to hit the region in 2005 and was originally projected to move into the Yucatan area of Mexico. Instead, it moved East and after sitting over the Gulf for two days came barreling in with sustained winds of 125 mph+, an eyewall over 40 miles in diameter and a record number of associated tornadoes.
For eight hours I sat in a one bedroom apartment listening to intense winds howl like the screams of a trapped animal, watched whole palm trees, lawn furniture, roof tiles and pieces of metal fly through the sky at immense speeds and felt the building shake like it was being hit by a locomotive. Copious amounts of rain pelleted buildings with the impact of bullets and within a short period of time the electricity disappeared. The first few hours were interesting in the thrill of experiencing something new, but after about the forth hour a deep fear emerged that it would never end and I began praying for the madness to stop. And then, suddenly, four more long hours later it did stop. Within a two minute span the conditions went from driving winds and rain to bright sunshine without a cloud in the sky.
Stepping outside after that storm came with a feeling of being a true survivor. It was a moment of giving thanks for still being alive. People emerged to look at a street covered with downed utility poles, overturned cars, uprooted trees and the remains of shattered roofs. Everyone quietly evaluated the scene for a few minutes and then, equally as quietly, returned home to recovery from the stress and prepare for the aftermath.
The aftermath proved to be an endurance test in patience, ingenuity and learning to do more with less. No one could drive out of the neighborhood for four days. Most grocery stores did not open for three days after the storm and, even then, were very short on supplies. There were no meats, dairy products, ice and only limited amounts of bread; which led to several days of meals consisting only of canned three-bean salad and crackers. Phone service, including cell, was non-existent. Eventually, people were able to get out for a few supplies (but rarely ice) and the days became a patient wait for the return of some semblance of normalcy.
Thankfully, we never lost water pressure which made for one small blessing in an otherwise difficult situation.
The most trying part was being without electricity for 15 straight days. Until you've experienced it, I don't think it's possible to explain how drastically it alters your life. It gave me a whole new respect for previous generations who lived entire lives without the conveniences of modern appliances and the comfort of air-conditioning. It's not easy, or comfortable, to live without electricity today when almost everything in life is designed around it. Want a hot meal? Learn to use an alternative form of heat like charcoal (sparingly because it's in short supply) to cook everything from steak to a can of Spaghetti-O's included in the free hurricane supplies you received after being in line for two hours. Want coffee? Heat water on the charcoal and pour it slowly through the filter basket of your coffee maker that you can't turn on. Want news? Listen to a battery-powered radio until the batteries run low and then learn how to combine C cells with D cells (if you can find them) to stretch your dwindling energy supply. Want some activity after dark? Either read by candle light and strain your eyes or learn to go to bed earlier. Want a hot shower? Ain't gonna happen. Want Ice? Good luck!
The day power was restored to the neighborhood was one of true celebration. At about 10 A.M a crew from a utility company out of Rhode Island rolled in with four trucks and a new transformer. They quickly went to work while old men approached them for information and everyone else watched in anxious anticipation. When the old men came back with any news, it was usually, "He said they'll know more after they evaluate the situation." So for five hours we watched, waited and talked about how nice it would be to have television again. Then at 3 P.M. a truck with a lift-basket parked under a transformer, raised a worker into the sky where he took a pole and flipped a connection into place and, like magic, ceiling fans rotated and lights burned brightly. As the crew departed people lined the street shouting words of thanks and cheered them like conquering heroes. After a few days, the pace and rhythms of life in the neighborhood went back to as if nothing unusual had ever occurred.
Would I want to go through another experience like that again? No, but it did teach me valuable lessons about what is really important in life. Now when I watch tropical storms develop I will always have flashbacks to Wilma, but also remember that materials things can be replaced and that life moves on even after life-altering events. We have no plans to live in South Florida again, but still have to remain vigilant even here in White Springs. The one thing I know for sure is that I don't want to go through a major tropical storm in an RV.
Until later, Happy Trails and Peaceful Skies.
copyright Lane A Geyer
photos from the Internet
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