Darkness Receding. Hurricane Michael Three Months Later
I haven’t written anything in the last three months about what happened on October 10th. I still haven’t found words for the damage, the emotions, the chaos, the darkness. That day, October 10th, changed the lives and the course of history for most people in its path.
People who live in Florida know to watch for storms off the coast of Africa. The storms have the entire Atlantic Ocean, Gulf of Mexico, and weeks to strengthen. So when a small low pressure system of the coast of the Yucatán Peninsula started being monitored on October 2nd, no one was worried. It looked like any other garden variety front with a thunderstorm. Five days later, the system became a named storm, Tropical Storm Michael.
The chaotic preparations began. October is the end of hurricane season, so most people were having to recheck their supplies. Stores were overrun by people grabbing shelf stable food, water, flashlights, batteries, and plywood. Michael was anticipated to be a small hurricane, so everyone prepared for the couple of days without power and water and some mild rain and wind.
Small hurricane may seem like a funny statement to make if you aren’t from Florida, but Floridians are prepared for category 1 and 2 storms. Houses are built to withstand 125 mph winds, much of the utilities infrastructure is underground, and people have been trained on what to do when the storm hits. On the night of the 9th, everyone went to sleep ready for the category 2/3 storm that was going to hit the next day and the half week without power ahead.
Everyone woke up, staring a category 4/5 hurricane in the mouth. For three days, everyone thought the storm would move toward the Panama City area and make a hard turn before it made landfall. The turn never happened.
Around 11 AM the rain and strong winds started. I walked out side to feel the power for the 50+ mph winds. 11:30 the power and internet started dropping out. It’s almost high noon and it’s getting dark outside. There’s nothing you can do as the storm blots out the sun, the winds increase, and the rain presses on. Eventually you can’t even see out of the windows of your home because of the amount of water being blown through the air. So everyone moves to the inside of the house, away from windows, to listen to the updates on the radio, in the dark.
Around noon, the meteorologist on the radio said that there were about two hours of bad storm left.
Then, the radio stopped. One station here and there, but even WFSU out of Tallahassee over 100 miles away could not be received. Everyone sheltered in place as the background music was the wind and rain tearing the house, their only refuge from the storm, apart. Two hours of the sheer force of Mother Nature and whoever was in arms reach of you. Everyone in their house did not know the world had fundamentally changed outside the walls of their home. The outside world had gone dark, both literally and figuratively.
The two hours passed, but the storm had not. The wind and rain continued for more than an hour. With no contact with the outside world, time seemed to drag as there was no end in sight. For hours, people’s soundtrack of wind and rain was accented with water dripping from the ceiling, debris crashing into homes, and windows breaking around them. When windows break, they don’t just break once. They break into pieces over and over, with each piece sounding like an entire room full of windows. All of this is playing out around people sitting in small rooms in absolute darkness.
Myself and two friends were sitting a 5 by 8 laundry room trying to hold two doors shut with our body weight. For 3+ hours, we sat there, in silence, motionless, our faces occasionally illuminated by a single LED lantern, allowing us to see the swings from emotionless notions of confusion to absolute terror. Nothing can prepare someone for a storm of that magnitude.
Eventually the noises died down outside and we opened the door. We emerged from the darkness into a new world unlike the one we left 3 hours prior.
After three months I still haven’t found the words to describe what I saw. It was like when the house gets ripped up in the Wizard of Oz, a lot of noises and swirling followed by waking up and walking out into a completely different place. But there was no Emerald City and no Yellow Brick Road.
The images don’t do the destruction justice. Entire privacy fences moved hundreds of yards. Nails and screws embedded in the sides of houses. RVs knocked over like bowling pins. New holes just ripped out of the side and top of houses. Thousands of trees snapped like toothpicks. The trees that weren’t snapped, 100 year oaks, just completely uprooted and laid on their side.
Suddenly your local neighborhood was your entire universe. You couldn’t travel anywhere, couldn’t contact anyone outside. If you were lucky enough to have cell service, the person who you were trying to call in town didn’t. Suddenly, you couldn’t get in contact with any of your friends and family to check on their safety. Neighbors started walking outside, through the flooded streets, to check on each other. Boards started going over the broken windows, people started assessing the damage, and then the storm came back for a second run. The storm had been stopped for 15 minutes when I heard saws firing up and the securing of property begin.
But hurricanes are weird. They beat you up for hours. They break your will with the wind and the rain. The intrude the outside world into your home with even the smallest structural weakness. Then it stops, and if you catch the eye, you get a 30–45 minute reprieve and beautiful clear skies. Then the storm gets ready and round two begins for another several hour beat down. With no radio or cell service, we assumed the storm was over when we were outside. But hurricanes are weird, and it wasn’t over. The darkness returned to cover up the sun.
The second bout with Michael wasn’t as bad. Windows were already broken, houses already flooded. The expectations were set and the worst was behind us. The new sounds were siding slamming against the house if it wasn’t torn free and giant gusts instead of hour long sustained winds.
When the storm finally stopped, it was dark. However, the word dark doesn’t begin to describe it. I had never seen such darkness until that night. The clouds covered the sky, which was black and there was no artificial light for hundreds of miles. When you turned off the flashlights, it was like closing your eyes. A curfew was instated through the emergency phone network and everyone was in their homes before 7 PM, and it was dark.
The next morning, the emergency radio stations were up and the information available was that no one had any information, so they were going to play chill music. The city had entered a post-apocalyptic war zone. Police had no radio communication, the hospitals were damaged to the point where they couldn’t accept patients, and almost no one was spared from the storm.
The noises and distractions of the day prior were replaced by a symphony of hammers, chainsaws, and diesel engines as everyone began to try and find a path out to check on their loved ones or finish securing their home. Roads were cut to a single lane so that people could just get out. People hit the streets, but weren’t prepared for what they were going to see. But the people got out, with the darkness gone, to find out what happened to those they care about.
Starting that day, and for weeks to follow, everyone began to pitch in and help out. People started cleaning up the pieces of their house and their neighbors home from their yard. Debris piles started growing in height until they became walls along the side of the road, 8 feet tall. People looking for even the slightest sense of normalcy.
But there was no running water and no power. Getting in or out of the area was almost impossible for several days. Some people had nowhere to live, and had to leave. These people had to pack up the things they found valuable and leave, limited by the sized of their vehicle. It’s sobering to have to quickly establish values for all of your property to determine what you are ok with never seeing again in case of fire, looting, or further damage.
Thankfully, for those that couldn’t leave, supply runs were being done almost daily by incredible people from outside the county, sometimes having to cut their way in to deliver water, ice, gas, and food. The damage was unreal, the city was broken, but the people could not be stopped.
But, they city was indeed broken. Wal-Mart was closed and defended by a lady wielding an M16. Gas stations were completely unserviceable. Restaurants closed. The entire infrastructure of the city was completely destroyed. Initial estimates were two months for power to restored (but thankfully it took only two weeks). Internet still hasn’t been fully restored in three months. Even basic running water took over a week to be restored.
Friends who have been oversees said it reminded them of their time in the war zones of the middle east. Those who saw Katrina said it was reminiscent of southern Mississippi. It wasn’t uncommon to have to pull over for Humvees toting National Guard members through the city. Distribution points for food and water established all of the city. People lining up for MREs because the 3 day supply of food that everyone tells you to prepare for doesn’t last three weeks. The only way to get supplies for yourself was to drive 30+ miles, but no gas was available in town either.
The most sobering thing, even to this day, is leaving the area and coming back. The rest of the world has moved on. Many people I know don’t even remember that Hurricane Michael happened. Over $15 billion in reported damage already claimed, one of the most powerful storms in US history, and to some, it is like it never happened. The storm will go in the record books forever, but has already left the collective mind of people. Michael may not ever have the national attention of Katrina, Andrew, or Camille, but it will always have an impact on the millions of people in its path.
The first time I left was a week after the storm. Amazingly, while Panama City was devastated, Panama City Beach was mostly ok. We had friends offer us their place to shower and do laundry. After a week, I was thankful just to flush a toilet. It’s weird, even after this, to think that a 15 minute drive was the difference between potentially losing everything and minor roof repair. The generosity of all of those that were less affected on the other side of the bridge will not soon be forgotten.
So for the last several months, in addition to trying to rebuild and navigate the minefield of homeowner’s insurance, everything has seemed darker than normal. The few blue sky days were overshadowed by the dark grey days that seemed to make up so much of the post storm. The storm also fell in the time of year where the days were already short and only getting shorter. By the time everyone got back to work and a routine, it was dark on your daily commute.
Today, three months after the storm, is the most beautiful day since the storm. It’s the first day I have truly appreciated a beautiful, open blue sky. The Florida winter brings the cooler, crisp air and the warm sun. The days are getting longer and looking to the sky makes everything seem alright.
But you can’t always only look up. Today I realized the short days and early nights were helpful. The darkness had shielded many of us from the devastation and the destruction still left in the city. The darkness had hidden from our sight that the city has years on the road ahead. The darkness was the only way that normal work commutes felt normal. We were used to driving in the dark. Now the commute is depressing as the landscape is barren and buildings stand half demolished.
So as we get more daylight and the area is illuminated around us, we can only hope to move forward. We can look forward to blue skies like today replacing the blue tarps of yesterday. We can look forward to when the darkness of the devastation of this storm recedes and the light of the city shines through.
