Big Bertha's Bang is a Bust
Today's drive time was sunny
and pleasant so when the radio announcer said: 'There will be
preparedness seminars conducted Tuesday,' I turned up the volume.
Preparedness seminars? For what? He added, 'It's been 34 years
since Jacksonville was hit by a hurricane and we are 'due.''
Living
between Jacksonville and Savannah on an island in the Atlantic,
it would appear we are also 'due.' However, I won't rush to Jacksonville
for classes any time soon.
Our
little island is nestled in what is called 'the bite out of Georgia,'
and tropical storms and hurricanes shoot up the coast to pummel
shores in the Carolinas. Those big winds breeze by without even
disturbing the dramatic drape of Spanish moss on our centuries
old live oaks.
Folk knowledge here says hurricanes hit once in 100 years. Aside
from the mandatory hurricane insurance, no one does anything to
'prepare' for the next one. When the hypesters start alerting
us to a swirl 200 miles off the coast of Bermuda, we merely note
the name.
And, we may half-watch the weather channel and glance at the radar
map, but we don't really pay attention. We're waiting for a bonafide
reason to anticipate a hurricane. That moment won't come until
the storm is 80 miles from Florida, heading directly toward us
and traveling at five miles per hour.Then, we'll anticipate.
You've heard that anticipation is greater than realization, and
I'm sure that's true. I've felt the high of anticipation with
hurricanes and also the relaxing calm after the storm. But, I've
never had to encircle an uprooting palm while holding on for dear
life.
This inner feeling of high-pitched excitement only comes, say,
before jumping out of an airplane, or catching the big wave, or,
falling in love -- and, of course, being in the path of a hurricane.
It's the adrenaline rush of those times when there is no going
back.
'Oooh, it's getting exciting,' I might say.
'Whaddya, crazy?' John will respond. 'Did you check the batteries?'
Details, details. I don't expect the hurricane to hit but it's
an exciting time on the island. The super market is filled with
scurrying shoppers. Toilet paper is gone from the shelves. Candles
are spilling out of shopping carts. Conversations are about 'evacuation.'
Do we think we 'will' be evacuated? Will we go if we're told to
go? Do you have help; do you need help? Do I dare take two gallons
of water?
With only 24 hours left and still on course, the storefronts near
the pier are boarded up.The tables and chairs from outdoor cafes
are bound to posts. Hanging plants are brought in and that eerie
glow filters through ominous clouds.
We are well-prepared on this island. We have maps, posted routes,
zones to consider and destinations to reach. The danger is not
so much in severe storm and wind damage, but in high water covering
the causeway -- our link to the mainland.
During 1996's Hurricane Bertha, we saw a little rain and a very
red sky, some flickering lights and the alert before an order
to evacuate. We were in the path but clear so far.
Then came the order: 'Evacuate.' At a nearby nursing home, the
plan -- so brilliant on paper -- turned into organized chaos.
These very old, often disoriented people, are taken in buses 80
miles to Waycross, Georgia to wait it out in a gymnasium. A truck
carrying their mattresses and pillows makes the trip, too, while
nurses tote medications, bedpans, disposables, etc.. The patients
(whoops! residents) become disoriented in the night, climb over
each other, swear they didn't get the right mattress or pillow
and turn ordinary chaos into mass chaos. (The return trip is not
without problems: 'This is not my mattress, where's the gingham
cat I sleep with? These are not my teeth.')
I was ready, and having filled my car with emergency supplies
for the stay at the shelter across the causeway, I came home to
John.
'Are you ready?' I asked.
'No,' he said, not even looking up. 'They won't take dogs at the
shelter and it's too late for a motel room. They're booked.'
'Oh, well, anyway, where's the cat?'
'She ran away,' he said.
'Doesn't that tell you something?' I said emphatically.
'Yeah,' he said. 'It tells me she'll be back, like always.'
'So, we're staying here,' I said, half question, half statement.
'Yeah,' he mumbled.
'Good,' I said, reaching for the bottle Southern Comfort. 'Very
good.'
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