Isaias: The Overwhelming Aftermath
We are both up early the next morning, carrying our lanterns as our house is still very dark. AdventureMan’s first goal is to get the shutters open so we have daylight, and mine is to clear the driveway so our son and grandson can come help us with some large boughs which were blown down. Below is the first thing we see, the bottom of a very large tree overhanging our neighbor’s yard to the left. It is wedged between two trees in our far back yard in the middle, and most of the branches and tree top have fallen into our neighbor’s on the right. We couldn’t figure out where the tree came from, and then discovered it was one of our trees. The wind had lifted it, twisted it and somehow it became wedged between two other trees and hangs in the air like a teeter-totter. A very lethal teeter-totter. We call our Arborist, a tree specialist with special equipment – this removal will be tricky. And expensive.
But first, we scan the nearby neighborhood. As we are walking, our neighbor catty-corner across the street comes over to ask about damage; we assure her we are fine. She is also fine. This is the first hurricane after the death of her husband, and she weathered it alone and has no damage, not even water in her basement. We did a happy dance.
An early morning walker comes along, one we know, and she says “Do you smell gas?” which we did. We can’t figure out where it is coming from so I call the gas emergency number where I leave a message with their automated service. A couple hours later I get a call back and gas people show up and find the leak at one of our neighbor’s house where a tree had broken his gas pipe when it fell.
Around the corner I can see where a huge tree has uprooted and fallen on another neighbor’s house. It doesn’t look backly damaged, but I later learn the tree penetrated the house, and if anyone had been in the part where the tree landed, they might not have survived.
I first met most of my neighbors during Hurricane Sally. We all wave as we come and go, but now we are having real conversations, all of us outside cleaning up.
Cleaning up. It’s like a major move. You look at all the pieces, everything that needs to be done, and it is overwhelming. You look down the street, and see a big tree down totally closing off the street. You see live power lines down on the street (we reported the one close to us, and crews appeared almost immediately to clear it from the street.) We know better than to go near a live wire. All around us, the streets are full of boughs and leafy debris. We clean the worst off the street so traffic can pass. We work together.
It’s bizarre to have such a beautiful morning following the horrifying winds.
The hugeness, the enormity of all that needs to be done saps your will. We work for a while, eating that elephant one small bite at a time, and slowly, slowly, we see progress. The shutters are open, and the bands stowed away. The drive is cleared enough to be passable.
Our son brings his chainsaw, and he and our grandson cut a heavy limb into 2 foot pieces; Public Sanitation won’t pick up larger peices. Even these 2 foot logs are heavy, and they carry them to the debris pile. We are so grateful for their help, and the heavy duty chainsaw breaks. It did its job. We’ll buy him a new one for Christmas if it has totally kicked the bucket.
While we are cleaning, the National Guard arrives, doing what they are trained to do, help people who have been hit by emergencies. They are doing an initial survey of loss, making a quick list of priorities. The trees have to be cleared off the roads before the power teams can come in. Major streets are blocked, and the fallen trees have taken down power lines as they fell. Hundreds of power lines down. Thousands of National Guards people here to help, and we are so thankful for their presence.
The job isn’t done by a long shot, but it’s all we can manage for today. We have light, and our drive is passable, and the largest boughs are stacked on the debris pile. Our son and grandson head home; they still have a lot to do, and they have a fence that blew over in places.
It’s past lunchtime, and AdventureMan and I decide to see how clear the streets are and what kind of damage has been inflicted outside our neighborhood.
There is SO much damage. Trees ripped out of the ground, blocking the major roads. A BMW is stuck under a tree, and we wonder, “Was this guy out driving during the hurricane and had a tree fall on him, or was he driving shortly after the hurricane and did not see the tree fallen on the road and crashed into it?” With no streetlights on, it is a possibility.
When we come to the first stoplight, it is not operating. People are all of a sudden very civil and polite now, and take turns going through. In the commercial center, there is no electricity. It is Saturday, and nothing is open, not even the service stations – they can’t run without electricity. We decide it is safer to head back home, and as we do, we come across a local Greek food truck just on the verge of opening, “Five minutes!” he calls out and we wait. As we wait, five more cars drive up and when the truck opens, they have more business in one hour than they will normally have in a day.
When we stop, they only have one meal to sell, lamb gyro and Mediterranean salad, so lamb gyro and salad it is. AdventureMan doesn’t eat lamb. He did today, and said it was great. The salad was wonderful; I have been worried about not eating enough vegetables, but this meal was perfect. Everyone behind us also ordered lamb gyro and salad, thankful to get a hot meal. Most people in the area do not have electricity.
The drive home is awe inspiring, in a very depressing way. So much damage. So much work to be done. Pensacola knows how to deal with storms, but Pensacola is not the richest place in Florida, and all this extra work will stretch the budget in very negative ways. Just paying the cleanup will hurt other public services.
On Scenic, a sparkle. The Apple Market, a locally owned IGA store, is open! They have a huge, noisy Generac. They have electricity! The cars are rolling in; Apple Market has hot meals and some of the best groceries in town. We text our son and his family so that they know, too. Everyone loves the Apple Market.
Once home, it is time for a nap, and then we are out once again, trying to clear debris. AdventureMan spots a dark jungly section of our yard where there is more damage, more limbs down, more trees to assess for safety, and he gets us on the list with the local arborist. We will need specialists and special equipment to get our horizontal floating tree taken down. It won’t come cheap, but our flying tree is also endangering two of our neighbors’ yards.
Dinner is peanut butter sandwiches. We read briefly, and then, like folk in the olden days, lights are out and we are fast asleep after a long day of physical labor.
Isiais Coming In
We lost power just as I was making one last entry. It returned today, Sunday, late in the afternoon. I kept notes, and I will share them with you.
We lost power around 5. It happened slowly. We would lose power for a few seconds, then it would come on again. Even the last time, when we heard the transformer outside our house SNAP!, we had hopes it would come back on. It didn’t.
Here is a blessing. The weather is cool. What really makes it hard is the lack of air conditioning, but the air is cool enough: we are comfortable. With the shutters on and locked, it is very dark, and worse, we cannot see what is happening outside except for glimpses out the corners of our shutters and the back door. We have no internet. The phones are working, and we learn the storm is wobbling toward Destin.
Our phones are all charged, but we don’t want to use them because we may need them – urgently – if we are directly hit. No one really knows. We hear the storm has moved east of us, and later it learn that it hit Destin/Navarre more directly, but the preceding bands of lashing winds and rain hit here earlier in the day and got stronger as the day went on. We learned that the bridge over to Gulf Breeze closed at 3:30, in that old abundance of caution (which we learned is a good way to go when the bridge was badly damaged during Hurricane Sally, and we lost its use for months.)
We have lanterns. They are strong and glaring. The winds speed up and then pick up again. It gets very wild outside; the cats are freaking out, and a loud thump and brushing sound hits the north side of the house, and we know a limb is down, and maybe a power line with it. I go to look out the back door – it is covered with a piece of ballistic mesh, a requirement for houses so that occupants have a way to exit quickly if something violent happens – a treefall directly on the house, a gas explosion, a fire – anything requiring a quick exit.
We can see through the mesh, dimly. The winds are crazy: the trees are twisting, writhing, it is painful to watch. There are no lights at all, no streetlights, no human lights. But something looks weird in our far back lot, and I call AdventureMan,
“I think I see a huge tree sort of hanging horizontally, but maybe I’m not seeing what I think I see. Will you take a look?”
He peers; I point to what I think is one end and the line the maybe-tree is taking. He agrees, and we agree that to go outside to check in the midst of wildly chaotic winds might satisfy our curiosity, but might also kill us. Being people who laugh during the worst times, we speculate on the headlines, like Pensacola couple steps into backyard, killed by falling tree.” Using our wiser judgement, we stay inside.
The winds are over by nine. It is very, very quiet. No cars are going by. There are no streetlights. There are no lights in any of our near neighbors’ houses; there is a light farther up the street where someone has started up a generator.
The stress is over, as we are exhausted. There is no electricity, no internet. We can read by lantern light, but we are tired from the stress, from all the preparations, so we turn out the light early and are asleep as our heads hit the pillows. We are thankful this day is over, and more than a little afraid of what we will find tomorrow.
Anxiety and Hurricane Prep
Hurricanes are instructive. They don’t go where they are supposed to go. They wobble. You can prepare like crazy, and they go somewhere else. Today, Pensacola is preparing. Here is today’s forecast. Where the map explodes is Pensacola.
The last time Pensacola was struck by a hurricane was Hurricane Sally. She was supposed to go to Alabama, but at 2 in the morning, big surprise, she hit Pensacola.
Early this morning, they filled their tanks (so did I).
By eight in the morning, the parking lot at the local Publix was full! I had to park in the outside ring
AdventureMan had picked up most of what we needed at the commissary; I just needed a few additional supplies:
Apples, snow peas, and cookies at Buy one-Get one. I bought enough to share with the neighbors or any family that might drop in,
We spend the rest of the morning closing the steel shutters:
Very sturdy, and they let in some light, but the inside gets really dark when the shutters are on.
“Eau de toilette”, in case we have no water.
Our granddaughter was out of school early, so we picked her up for lunch and an afternoon together.
Even by noon, rumors are making their rounds that the storm will fade almost as quickly as it hits land, people are looking much more relaxed.
I Spoke Too Soon
I made a big mistake this weekend. We were out at Peg Leg Pete’s for lunch – it was a dark and stormy day, and I thought all the tourists would go home, but I was wrong. All the tourists headed to Peg Leg Pete’s. (That was just a small mistake, and it worked out fine, we had a nice booth before the place maxxed out and the line outside started.)
The lunch, as usual, was great. No, the mistake was not going to Peg Leg Pete’s. The mistake, over a Lafitte Grouper sandwich, was mentioning how thankful I was for rainy weather, and had AdventureMan noticed we haven’t had any hurricanes this year?
I know better.
So Monday there are some vague mentions of a disturbance out in the Gulf of Mexico, down near Mexico. Tuesday night there begin to be warnings about a Tropical Storm headed this way. (We’re used to that; a drenching, some strong winds, maybe a short electrical outage and some extra clean-up afterwards.) But no, the predictions become more and more dire. (We’re actually used to that, too. Everyone gets dramatic at the possibility of WEATHER coming in.)
Today is Wednesday.
Events are being cancelled. They’re giving instructions on what we need to have on hand for emergency conditions. AdventureMan is on a quest to resupply our aging AA Battery collection for our, yes, hurricane lanterns. When ALL the lights go out, it is surprising how very dark it is.
We’ve learned a couple of things. Most of the time, the drama is all out of proportion, and it doesn’t hit us. Life gets normal really fast, and we laugh at our anxieties.
We’ve also learned that a hurricane that’s headed a couple hundred miles east or west can suddenly make a jog and hit us unexpectedly in the middle of the night. And then, life is a mess. The worst part, for me, is that no electricity means no air conditioning, and it can be very sultry and hot and hard to sleep at night. Our little propane stove is great for heating up coffee and soups, and that gets old in a hurry. And the mosquitoes.
There is only so much you can do. Much of it needs doing on a regular basis, like having your trees trimmed of branches that can fall and crush your roof or fly and break your windows. Put away all your big potted plants in a sheltered area where they will not become flying objects. More immediate is waiting to see if we will need to hurriedly affix our shutters, a real pain in the neck, which takes time, and makes the house dark and airless, but it does protect the windows.
We had a big chainsaw; just about everybody has a chainsaw to cut up big trees that block your driveway or road, but we gave it to our son and asked him to come over and help us if we need help.
I have two meetings this afternoon. Until the storm gets closer, life will go on with an eye to the sky.
AdventureMan just sent me this from the commissary saying “I won’t call it panic buying, but there is definitely some purposeful preparation buying going on.”
What Do You Expect When You Vote for a Misogynist?
More than 35% of female undergraduates surveyed at Cornell last year reported experiencing nonconsensual sexual contact, up from 23% in 2023.
You voted for a man who claimed to grab women by their private parts because he could. He said when you are rich and famous, you can do anything. He and his Tweedledum War Chief think manly equals testosterone and taking what you want.
To this point, increasingly civilized countries have prioritized manly qualities such as protecting women and children, providing for women and children, taking care of elderly parents, giving charity to those who are in need – being physically stronger comes with responsibilities.
Small wonder women are refusing to date or marry men who believe they are entitled to dominate and take what they want.
Consent is basic respect. An agreement to kiss is not an agreement to go further, Consent has degrees, and a manly man checks in, makes sure his partner wants to take the next step.
Me and IKEA
“What am I looking at?” You might ask. It’s my 28 year old laundry basket, good as new. It holds a lot of laundry, it folds up into nothing, and the bag unbuttons and comes off to be washed. 28 years, and good to go for another 28 years. It’s from IKEA.
IKEA is the nomad’s dream. I bought three tables to use in a country where I had no tables. These tables come apart, fold down to 24″ x 39″. and fold out to double that size. The hinged tabletops look like the day I bought them. I can put three together and seat 12 more people. They’ve moved six times, made their homes in four countries.
The complex in Kuwait provided the couches and beds, IKEA provided by closets, storage and book cases. I could take them apart and ship them from country to country. I finally had to leave them in Doha, our final post.
No, it is not fine furniture. And for a nomad, it packs up and travels just fine. One of my Army wife friends once told me (her father dealt in fine furniture and antiques) to save my money and buy the fine furniture when we retire and stay (more or less) in one place. I took her advice, except that I still have my die hard, hard working IKEA tables and my laundry basket. And all the IKEA shelves holding my books and fabrics and quilting supplies in the sewing room.
BRAVO, IKEA!
Garden of Autumn Delights
Suddenly, earlier than expected, we’ve had a drop in temperatures. Not dramatic, but such a relief from the heat and humidity. Lows in the 70’s. Highs in the 80’s. It makes me feel alive again, and it makes me want to spend my time outside.
AdventureMan’s garden is full of joy.
In my small group this week, we were talking about what thrives in Pensacola. We’ve gone through a lot of trial and error. One thing grows year round: Chives. Not only do they grow, they reproduce, and we give pots of chives away each spring. To me, what is a miracle is that they also grow reliably in Alaska; one of our best meals included chives from a private garden. My chives are currently in bloom:
I was very little when my Mother, in Alaska, taught me how to start avocados from avocado seeds. I have never successfully grown avocados, but I am great with avocado plants. Here, in the searing cold of an icy night they will scorch, and lose all their leaves, but by late spring, we will see signs of life. They shoot up, and my August they are seven feet or more tall.
Our shampoo gingers are reddening – when fully ripe they give a liquid good for washing hair.
We’ve seen lots of Monarch butterflies this year, thanks to AdventureMan’s thriving milkweed:
We like spicy peppers, but the peppers we grow are too hot for us to eat. AdventureMan pickled a batch, and they were still too hot. We grow them anyway; they earn their keep with their beauty. They look like little Christmas ornaments among all the greenery.
I wish you could eat plumbago. It loves this climate, we love the color and plant it everywhere. Now, it is sharing territory with a weed, but such a beautiful weed, we allow it to grow in the back yard. It covers our bridal wreath tree, twines its way up trees and bird feeders and interlaces with the plumbago:
We don’t know where they come from, but after every monsoon rain, we have hoards of rain lilies invading any available surface:
Japanese eggplants grow well, and then they go wonky, crack, the birds poke holes in them, and we clear them out. We’ve had bad luck with all tomatoes, except for small ones, and the birds get to them before they fully ripen. If we plant green onion bottoms, we get more green onions. We haven’t really found a reliable food crop. We have Vietnamese friends with fabulous gardens, and even they have said this summer was not good for backyard gardens. Peppers of all kinds are about as good as it gets. And good old reliable year after year chives.
Taxpayers Fund Pathetic Big Brother
According to several news agencies yesterday, an ad promoting Trump began airing this week. It says it was paid for by the government, despite a law banning taxpayer funds being used for propaganda.
I find Trump vulgar. I find his AI productions of himself as Jesus, as himself in a military uniform (applying honors to himself which he never earned), and his glowering portraits from public buildings inappropriate. Pathetic. Distasteful.
I find his fripperies and vanity projects disgusting. The man has no taste. He is erecting monuments to himself. He would destroy the Kennedy Center because he is jealous – he wrecked it.
I’m careful with my money. What offends me the most is that I am not reluctant to pay taxes; we earned government salaries, we respect the need for a government to provide services, and that good citizens pay their fair taxes. I object to paying for self-glorification, or “love-me” ads. I believe this is illegal – just as I believe our fight in Iran is illegal, was not discussed with Congress, and that the citizens paying for this war should be given accurate information, such as the tolls taken on our servicemen and women and on our installations during this war.
Why do we continue to let this fraudster operate with impunity?
He dares to put his face on the corrupts Justice Department, filling it with loyalists who submit to Trump’s policy of vengeance against his perceived enemies – those who would disagree with him.
He puts his face on the Labor Department, at a time when mortgages are once again hitting an all time high, inflation is hitting food and gas prices, and our young people cannot find jobs nor buy houses.
His vanity knows no boundaries. His ignorance is wrecking our economy. His vulgarity shreds our efforts at civility. His greed takes the food out of the mouths of the hungry, and medical care out of the hands of the sick and dying. He refuses to disperse funds already allocated to the powerless. He sells off our National Parklands, or leases off lands, for commercial exploitation, and invalidates environmental rules put into place to keep our food, water, and emergency systems in place.
In the previous entry in this blog, we see Trump and Melania glaring suspiciously at the camera, and the President of China looking at Trump with a look that appears to be pity.
Pity instead the poor taxpayers, footing the bill for this monstrous, vain, big baby.
“But What If I Never See Pomegranate Syrup Again?”
I had a tough weekend. You know, one of those dealing with emotions kind. Exhausting.
I’ve been chasing moths in our pantry for weeks now, and AdventureMan has volunteered to clean out the pantry totally and get to the root of the situation. I am so grateful. He was soon so sorry he volunteered. It’s a mammoth job. I know, I’ve done it before to get rid of our last infestation.
Even that word is a trigger for me. We have a moth infestation translates to I AM A BAD HOUSEKEEPER. I hear my Mother’s judgement. She raised me better. I do the best I can, but . . . I have an INFESTATION. I feel like a failure.
So I listen to my husband huffing and puffing and even cursing now and then, and I don’t feel appreciation as much as I feel guilt.
It gets worse. He wants to have “a talk.” Just the words make my heart pound. But the truth is, he is very kind. He doesn’t blame me for this at all; he just wants to find where these beasties are coming from. We wash every crevice (there are cocoons), inspect every package, put all grains and open-package wares in glass or hard plastic containers, and we crush every sign of the beasties. Yet still they appear.
AnventureMan snuggles up and says “we are buying too much food. We have a pantry full of food, just for the two of us. We eat out often, and cook less. We waste food; we throw out bread that molds, vegetables that shrink, and foods that have expired. We need to buy less food.”
I agree. I know he is right.
“I know it is hard for you to break decades of behavior,” he says, “but we have changed our habits and now we have to change our shopping.”
I agree. I know he is right.
Living on a frugal island in Alaska, then living overseas where we couldn’t get many of the goods Americans take for granted, I lived by two rules:
- If you see it, buy it. You may never see it again. This was true in Alaska, Germany, Tunisia, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Qatar. During COVID it was briefly true in the United States, as the supply chain went off the wheel, and toilet paper was absent from the shelves as people bought it up like treasure.
- If you need it, buy a back-up. This explains why I have excessive amounts of peanut butter, mustard, relish, tuna fish, dish detergent and beans. It’s no longer a question of when the boat will come in, it’s also a question of if a hurricane strikes and we are on our own for days, or weeks, or months.
I agree with AdventureMan. I need to buy less; we need to waste less.
Today, with his felafel salad, he started to grab the pomegranate syrup from the pantry and I said “Stop! We have one open in the refrigerator!” I could see it was getting low, and mentally I was thinking “put that on the list, we don’t want to run out of pomegranate syrup.”
And then my rational brain kicked in. How often do I really use pomegranate syrup? For Muhammara, which I make maybe once every three months. For Fesenjan, which I have made once, ever. And today AdventureMan wanted some for his salad. Our bottle in the refrigerator could last a year or more.
And my lizard brain screamed “But what if you never see pomegranate syrup again?”
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