Author’s note: As a brief respite from my series of ARB pieces, here are some musings about post storm flood reckonings.
– Marlow
During the 2004 and 2005 hurricane seasons, while sitting in my former isle seat, friends and I dealt directly with the aftermaths of the floods of seven hurricanes’ storm surges. They came one after the other, like the staccato punches Marvin Hagler threw when he tried knocking out opponent after wobbling opponent in the first round of his championship fights. To add to these indignities, one of the storms, Wilma, had two floods – one from the approaching storm and the second about four hours later as the storm receded.
Hurricane Wilma’s 2005 storm surge flood #2 along North Roosevelt Blvd
Across the Florida Keys, residents would come out after the storm passed to assess the damage wrought on their houses and neighborhoods. Without fanfare or TV coverage, they immediately engaged the tasks of stacking ruined furnishings, carpeting and keepsakes at the curb. There was little time for mourning or social media posts.
Our streets and yards were quickly ridge lined with 6 to 7 foot high mountains of sodden couches, desks, appliances, electronics, personal items and foodstuffs that were soaked by the storm surges that poured into our simple homes. Once the initial clearing out was completed, we turned to tarping damaged roofs. After one storm in 2004, less than seven days later well before we had completed the tarping, a rain squall stalled over the island dumping 10 inches of rain in less than half a day. Just what we needed a fresh water flood cleansing of our still leaky home interiors. At least it got rid of the chemically odors of the residual oil and gasoline that the surges had spread everywhere.
Post hurricane trash piles
During the first several weeks after each flood, the air was thick not with tropical flower bloom scents but with power washer sprayed bleach and cleanser. During the following months as we walked by the piles of our trashed stuff, you could smell the rot and decay.
What made this worse were the long lines of storm destroyed automobiles that then clogged the streets. In Key West, car losses totalled over 85% after Hurricane Wilma. It took over a year for these cars to finally be carted out of the Florida Keys to recycling centers on the mainland. As the piles of personal effects were hauled away, they were replaced by the construction materials from post flood demolition and reconstruction. These piles smelled not just of rot but of mildew.
These memories faded as we rebuilt and replenished. What never left were the sights and sounds of tears and sobs as families considered cherished mementos of people and times past that were obliterated by the storms. They had to carry them out, bury them curbside and wait for months for them to be carted away.
We islanders were lucky. Deaths from these seven storm floods were almost nonexistent. Our post storm reckonings were more personal and invisible to the world outside of our island chain. More than a few people had been plunged so deeply underwater financially by these floods that they were forced to leave everything behind and start over again on the mainland. Many never returned.
Storm wreckage was massive and widespread, sparring almost no one across the economic spectrum. Only small parts of Old Town, the highest ground on the island at 10-16 feet above mean sea level, escaped the inundations. Like we are seeing in Texas, flooded businesses were opened very soon after the waters receded.
Typical Key West post flood attitude
I have many fond memories of how people got by and reconstructed DIY style. One example is that of the scooter rider perched upon 8 ten foot long 2×6’s sticking way aft of the end of his scooter like the wooden plummage of a peacock. As he made a slow turn off of North Roosevelt., his plumage spread out in full display. I veered left behind him to protect him from having his ersatz feathers jammed up his behind by an unsuspecting tourist driver. Helping him unload his purchase, I made him promise to call me for assistance in future such purachses.
Trash piles on Terry Lane in 2005
When the FEMA trailers arrived, those, whose previous living accomodations had kept them far from their houses for months after the water seeped in, increased their reconstruction work intensity. The near invisible progress before was replaced by weekly accomplishments that were toasted at Sunday picnics held next to these home sites. Hope had been replaced by progress at that point. At those meals we silently gave thanks that we could at least rebuild.
Let us pray that Houston soon sees this progress and is able to give thanks like we islanders did long ago in the coming months.
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