We are in the middle of hurricane season here in the southeast US. My husband and I are pretty used to prepping for storms. He was born and raised in Florida and I’ve lived here 34 years. Still, we never take for granted the unpredictability of a hurricane, despite the interactive weather maps with cones and paths updated hourly.
Hurricanes seem to like to make their way across Florida over Labor Day weekend. Perhaps we just remember the ruined holiday plans from years past. But, by late summer, the currents in the Atlantic and the bathwater temperature of the Gulf set just the right conditions to send high winds, heavy rains, and tornados spinning across one of the most popular vacation areas in our country.
2017 was an especially active storm year with 17 hurricanes affecting the east coast and/or gulf region. By late August we were all worn out from constantly watching the weather, and we still had two months of hurricane season to get through.
I say “we,” meaning most Florida residents, but I honestly don’t remember much of what happened that summer. I was worn out, yes, but mostly from grief. My 30-year-old daughter died in a car accident in early April and I had vacillated between abject sorrow and numbness for the ensuing four months.
At that time, our primary home was still in Tampa. But, we had purchased our river house in rural north Florida three years prior and it had become our place of refuge and comfort in our mourning. So, when the forecast of yet another hurricane showed the potential path cutting across Tampa Bay, we put our elderly cat in her carrier, battened down the hatches, and headed to the river for the long weekend. I wanted nothing more than to hunker down.
The day after we arrived, the weather cone shifted and we were as likely to get the brunt of the storm in north Florida as in Tampa.
One of the many things I love about where we live is the neighbors. They are nosy, sarcastic, and opinionated. Caring, capable, and tender-hearted. Salt-of-the-earth people. They show up at your house to help move boats, tie down tarps, store objects that could become projectiles, and teach you how to hook up and operate a portable generator. While happily accepting a beer or a cup of coffee and ragging you for not cleaning the generator carburetor.
In the wee hours of the next morning, I woke up to a dark, hot house and the sound of branches slapping against the metal roof. The power was out and the storm was battering down on us with rain, hail, and gale-force winds.
It was scary. And, I wondered just how much more fear, worry, and heartache God expected me to take.
By daybreak the worst of the storm had passed. My husband fired up the generator so we could at least have lights and turn on fans. It wasn’t powerful enough to support the AC or the well pump. But, we had been advised to store up gallons of water for flushing. The fridge and freezer were running. And we could make coffee. Pretty soon folks were going up and down the dirt roads in utility carts, checking on each other and surveying the damage. The storm had spawned some small tornadoes. There were lots of downed trees and power poles, some damaged roofs and smashed fences, but no one was hurt. We had all managed to weather the storm.
Maybe God was looking out for us after all.
Laura
A Light for My Path 
Leave a comment