"The friend in my adversity I shall always cherish most. I can better trust those who helped to relieve the gloom of my dark hours than those who are so ready to enjoy with me the sunshine of my prosperity."
9.11.23
A brief one today, because I have a big hearing after lunch and spent the last few days dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Idalia.
On Friday I arose bleary-eyed at 3:45, after having my sleep interrupted by one of the most violent thunderstorms I've seen in a while. Our patio furniture was tossed around outside 407, even one of the heavy chairs. It's easy to see how we lost our sliders when Michael lifted the wrought iron furniture we had out there that day and hurled it at the glass.
The early start was required to arrive first thing in Tifton, Georgia, to pick up a debris rake George had ordered for the tractor, and to buy a couple chainsaw chains for the busy weekend ahead. As it turned out I arrived closer to nine than to eight, but with the time zone difference I would've had to leave at 3 a.m. to get there when they opened. I'm too old and tired for that.
After the rake was secured in the back of the truck,
I snaked down two lane roads through south Georgia and into Florida, noting the increasing sight of downed trees along the roadside.
Once I drove into Perry, it was obvious I'd arrived at ground zero. This was no Hurricane Michael, but a Cat 3 still leaves a hell of a mess. It reminded me more of Opal in '95, with random downed trees and the shoulders filled with branches and pine straw.
Crossing Byron Butler Parkway onto Puckett Road, maybe a mile from the farm and the airport, the mess grew exponentially.
And by the time I turned onto Pine Bluff Road, our street, it became clear that I'd reached the center of the damage.
That shot could've been taken in the Cove in October of 2018.
I turned down the drive and past a line crew that had blocked our path but let me through for some reason. The photo doesn't begin to show the extent of the mess at Wyldswood, with about half of the pines snapped off, sections of fence crushed, and a pine lying in the pond next to the fish house that had been lifted off its foundation.
But it wasn't a complete disaster. All of the structures were fine, and we'd have air conditioning, a stove, and a TV on our evenings after work. George and Beth had already arrived, and George's work over the previous several days created the beginnings of our burn piles.
A few minutes after I pulled up, Issac arrived from Ponte Vedra with his chain saw. This would be our team for the next couple days.
Once George and Beth hoisted the rake out of the bed of the Dodge, we fanned out to start clearing debris. George dropped me into the cab of the John Deere, figuring that it was the easiest to drive, and if I could fly a plane, surely I could master this.
The pedals didn't really correspond to what you'd find in a car, and it took me a long time to figure out how to raise and lower the bucket on the front and whatever was hanging on the back, but I finally got the hang of it and started pulling chunks of tree off a fence line. Unfortunately the tree limbs fought back, and I spent much of the next couple hours out of the cab an dragging limbs by hand to the burn pile.
Around two I was forced to take a break to mediate a case that had been on the books since well before the storm, and realized at the last minute that no one had yet reestablished our wifi connection. I managed to bring it to life two minutes before we all appeared on screen for the joint session.
The case settled, but took a lot longer than planned, keeping me tied up until nearly six. By that time the rest of the crew had had enough of toiling in the heat, and I presented myself to resume work just as the were quitting for the day. Perfect timing.
Issac brought steaks, new potatoes, and asparagus, and pulled together a meal that would've made his mama proud. Afterward he indulged me while I watched the Braves crush the Pirates, and we talked well into the night until exhaustion brought an end to social hour.
The next morning I awoke and snapped a photo of Peg's "sentries", the tall pines in the north pasture whose silhouettes had greeted her every morning she slept there. There were still a few standing, but alas around half were snapped off twenty feet up, with pieces strewn in different directions in the grass.
After coffee and breakfast, the two of us bumbled out to find George had already attached the new rake to the John Deere, and was on the Kubota tractor moving downed logs to the burn pile. With Issac there to help, George shifted to running the chain saw while Issac used the grapplers on the front of the tractor to carry logs from around the north pasture to the pile. Your correspondent, being incompetent at most things related to agriculture, was ordered back into the air conditioned cab of the John Deere to start running the rake around the property and creating burn piles of limbs and pine straw.
Meanwhile Issac managed to resolve the lack of air conditioning in the Kubota cab by having a limb snap back and shatter the port side door. His mom did exactly the same thing two years ago trying to avoid a snake. DNA is destiny, I guess.
Mid-morning Dio emerged from Splinters to join in the work. He's been living out there after a marriage ended, figuring out Plan B. He was the guiding designer during the facelift to the farmhouse last fall, so we were happy to have him and his puppy out there. He donned a pair of gloves and started pulling away debris that had tumbled against the fence lines, allowing me to rake it up with the tractor.
At some point in the day we realized it was George's birthday, so I slipped off to buy him a Burger King gift card (I erroneously thought he ate there a lot; he corrected me later. I guess it's the thought that counts), a bottle of Apple Crown Royal and some Sprite after he declared we would quit at five and take happy hour out on the screen porch behind the office.
By the time five rolled around, we'd made great progress in cleaning up Peg's farm.
All in good spirits, we sat among the torn and flapping screens telling stories and having a drink or three. Even Dio came down from Splinters for the social hour. Afterward Beth cooked steaks for George's birthday, and we brought him the Brownie Cake I'd bought at Winn Dixie with candles and "Happy Birthday George" written across the top, a challenge for me given that the nice girl at the WD bakery couldn't spell his name without me walking her through it several times.
We split up around dark, and Issac and I once again talked late into the night, this time watching "Night Shift" on Amazon so he could get a glimpse of the world in the year he was born. After we turned in, I sat up waiting for P to get back from her wedding in Buffalo so we could talk for a few minutes. That wait went on until 11:30, which gave me a few sleepy minutes to watch USC decimate Stanford on my tablet.
We slept until after eight on Sunday, awakened by the sound of George and his brother-in-law and nephew cutting down the trees that had bent or leaned over in the wind.
After raking around the pond and around the newly cut trees, I announced I had to drive to PC if I hoped to fly the Columbia back to NY that day. Meanwhile, Issac flew his drone overhead and created some amazing video footage of the farm and the cleanup after the storm. This website host won't let me upload videos here, but they're on Facebook. Amazing stuff. P's announced what she wants for Christmas.
I raced to Sheltair and was in the air by around 3:30 central, flying a western path home to avoid a line of thunderstorms along the Smokies. If one believes in signs of divine blessing, maybe there was a message in the rainbow that appeared as the sun set on my route across east Tennessee. Shades of Genesis.
By nine p.m., I was parked on the couch next to the beautiful Peggy Bowen, nursing a cocktail and listening to her description of the joys and travails of her wedding trip to Buffalo. All good; all very good.
This Taylor County hurricane experience has done a lot to improve my view of humanity (as if humanity gives a sh*t what I think of my extended family, my "neighbors" as I think on a sermon I read this morning). Inside the fences at Wyldswood, it was a team effort among people whose common thread is love for each other and this beautiful place. Everyone had a role, right down to George's young niece, "Little Bit", who walked along with Beth pulling branches out of the fences. It never occurred to anyone to sit around waiting for the government to help, or an insurance company to save the day. We had chain saws, tractors, and fuel. With George's patient guidance, we'd fix this.
And the same seemed true all over Taylor County. Folks everywhere we cutting fallen trees, tarping what needed to be tarped, and helping neighbors who might not be as skilled or young enough for the exertion. I noticed lots of trucks bearing the logos of the pirates who swoop into these disaster scenes for an insurance windfall, sitting idle at the airport because the locals could take care of most of the mess themselves. Of course, I'm guessing a lot of my neighbors didn't have any insurance (our loss almost certainly wasn't covered, given that the structures weren't damaged), so there was no policy for these carpetbaggers to loot.
In the end, P's place lacks a few trees, and there's that tree we have to figure out how to drag out of the pond. But overall, we're in a pretty good place, fortunate to have the help of our extended family in the Big Bend.
留言