Helene, Milton, Sleeping Beauty, and Mr. Rogers

My family has a home on a barrier island in southwest Florida where we experienced the impact of two major hurricanes within two weeks. Helene, followed by her bigger, meaner brother, Milton. This recounting is our own experience. It will vary from others. And we are grateful we had the resources to make certain decisions others may not have been able to. We were knocked down but able to get back up. Our heart goes out to all who were impacted by these disasters of nature, especially those who were knocked down and are still struggling to get up.

Helene and Milton brought to our island storm surges that we could never have envisioned which flattened the dunes that had protected the homes on the beach. This sister and brother combo washed over the island dumping tons of sand under homes, in the street, yards, garages, destroying anything on the ground level. The water cleared away any and everything in its path. What was once a Paradise became a war zone. The first views of the destruction were incomprehensible. My husband and I walked around like zombies because the enormity of it was too much to grasp. Now all of us on the island are in the process of trying to recover from these colossal and previously unheard-of back-to-back hurricanes.

Our family first came to this barrier island over thirty years ago when my in-laws moved here. We were fortunate to have the resources to build our own home in 2012. This small island is accessible only by boat or by ferry, a barge pulled by a tugboat that holds up to eight cars. There is no bridge. So, Helene, then two weeks later, Milton, abruptly halted access to the island. When the ferry began to run again, only emergency vehicles were allowed to cross. The amount of sand piled on the roads from the storm surges of the two hurricanes made the roads impassable. Layer by layer, the sand was scraped and pushed into giant piles alongside the narrow road. It reminded me of a blizzard, only the sand wasn’t going to melt.

EVACUATE OR NOT?

My husband and I had planned a visit long before Helene and Milton had formed to see our daughter and her fiancé, who had recently moved. Our time with them landed between Helene and Milton, yet we were oblivious that another hurricane was forming. Upon hearing about Milton, we returned to Florida on a red eye flight to tie down and secure as best we could anything that might get washed away. Our deck had been destroyed with Helene, and everything in our garage had washed out. We tried to put any loose items in a safe place where they couldn’t be impacted by the next storm, and we filled 50 sandbags from the pile of sand Helene had dumped in our yard. We didn’t think we had time to evacuate, and we didn’t have a destination. Being stuck on the highway with the possibility of no gas seemed even more frightening. So, our goal was to stick it out on the island.

On Tuesday, October 8, 2024, less than two weeks since Helene had hit and two days before Milton, the ferry was scheduled to shut down at 11:00 in the morning. It would not run again until after Milton made landfall. Our plan was to take our car over to the mainland and put it on blocks to prevent it from becoming destroyed from the salt water, then take the ferry back to the island and walk a mile to our home to ride out the hurricane. Around 7:30 that morning we took the ferry to the mainland and began to place the concrete blocks upon which we would put the car. Then it hit me. I was overwhelmed with panic. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t go back to the island where everyone else had evacuated, and the power and water were turned off. I couldn’t stay alone and listen to wind and water crashing without any sight of what was going on for who knew how long. I couldn’t do it. My husband relented.

So, we turned around and took the ferry back to the island. My husband did last minute securing while I searched for a flight out of Fort Myers. It was one of the few airports still open and only ninety minutes away. Grateful we could afford to book a last-minute flight, we threw clothes in our carry-on bags, I made some sandwiches, and we left. By 9:30 we were on our way, and by the time the ferry stopped running, we were at the airport.  We caught one of the last flights out. Our destination was Savannah, GA, where our friends, Leslie and Bob, lived. I booked the flight, then I told them we were coming. Time was a factor. Again, we were grateful to know someone we could drop in on unannounced.

We spent two delightful days outside of Savannah, distracted by our friends, until we watched the weather. It was like a yoyo—relaxing, then anxiously waiting to see when and where Milton would hit. Back and forth. Up and down.

On Thursday, October 10, Milton made landfall as a Category 3 storm at 8:30 p.m. near Siesta Key in Sarasota County. We watched our cameras in real time as the breakers slammed into our house until the power went out. No more cameras, but we were safe.

AFTER THE STORM

We returned to Florida on Friday, October 11. The ferry was only taking emergency vehicles to the island because of downed power lines and sand that covered the roads. The sand from Helene had been about two feet deep. The roads had been cleared, and the sand had either been piled alongside the road or removed. Unbelievably, Milton dropped four more feet and wrecked much more havoc.

Residents were not allowed to use the ferry and were told not to return to the island until the county gave the OK. My husband was not going to wait, and he found a ride over to the island by boat. We were let off at an unknown resident’s dock, almost completely covered with debris. We left everything in our car on the mainland except for his backpack, my purse and some food and walked the mile to our home. Except for the occasional beeping of the front-end loaders as they pushed the sand to clear the roads, there was only silence.

The damage along the road was unimaginable. Tangled masses of metal, pavers, pipes, and siding. Exterior stairs, attached at the top, hung in midair. Dented and damaged golf carts, tossed by the storm, lay in ditches. The 25 MPH speed limit sign was bent such that it almost touched the sand. Screens ripped off. The surge had pushed a vehicle through the back wall of a garage. Boats tilted precariously above piles of debris that had washed into the canal. Some drifted free in the canal, and others landed in yards. Lattice work was torn from posts. Warped boards. Exposed garages where sand had piled in. Doors to storage cabinets ripped off, and everything inside was scattered or gone. Hurricane shutters bent and exposing what was left behind. Shattered and cracked windows that couldn’t withstand the force of the water and sand. Twisted metal wrapped around the base of palm trees. Three lone toilets alongside the road. There were places where the sand was piled two to four feet up, and there were cavities underneath the homes where the water had carved out the sand. Flatscreen TVs face down in the sand. Broken pipes. Exposed concrete. Sections of decks ripped out. Walls torn off. Mounds of concrete slabs piled on top of one another. Furniture and appliances washed away.

 We let ourselves into our house. No hum of the a/c. No lights to switch on. No water to wash our hands, for there was no power or water. Again, complete silence until we turned on our generator. We had two five-gallon cans of gasoline that we had brought over after Helene, but never needed. Now we did. We hooked up our small refrigerator that we used for storing drinks to the generator and put water and survival food in it. We plugged in fans and lamps, depending on where we were, our television, and a small solar generator for keeping our phones charged. Extension cords were essential.

Never had I been so grateful for paper products and the plastic utensils given with take-out. Cuties became my food of choice because they required no refrigeration and quenched my thirst. We lived on cold cereal with fruit and sandwiches for a few days until the power was turned back on.

Water was another issue. Before we evacuated, I had filled pots and bowls with water in the kitchen. We put all our melting ice in a cooler. We used these for washing hands and any knives or utensils we used that required washing. We had a bucket of water in our bathroom for flushing the toilet. But only when necessary. And only one toilet.

After Helene we were overwhelmed with the enormity of the destruction it caused. While most homes that were built on pilings had little, if any, interior damage, everything underneath them was washed away.

But with Milton, the damage was even greater. Pictures on my phone showed the stark difference. Instead of a two-foot water line on ground level walls, the line was four feet. Imagine what is stored in a garage four feet and below. Instead of the supposed six-to-seven-foot surge we think our island received with Helene, it was probably ten-to-twelve-feet with Milton. Any homes that were not built on pilings, suffered incredible damage. Our mother-in-law’s home was one of these, and our dearest friends and neighbors were another. Homes on the mainland and other barrier islands that were not raised up experienced massive devastation. Sand, carried by the surge, poured into windows and buried the appliances and furniture inside.

The clean-up was so massive and overwhelming, that some days we didn’t know where to start.  The ferry was closed to residents for almost a week. During that time, we took photos of neighbors’ homes to show them their damage. On several occasions we found running water under a home and notified the owners via Facebook by the address. Despite our efforts to secure anything loose on our property, Milton took breakaway walls, planters, our kayak, golfcart, garbage cans, and more and careened and slammed them into our neighbor’s yard. What a disaster!

The island has a series of canals on the east side that run into the intracoastal. It is basically three islands connected by a single beach. When Milton came, the water surged from the gulf, bringing sand and anything with it. This powerful mass was forced across the road, into homes on the other side, and ultimately into the canal. So many unknown things disappeared into the brown waters of the canal. Boats that were supposed to be on lifts disappeared. Refrigerators, precariously hanging on to the edge of retaining walls, boat trailers, lawn chairs, wheelbarrows, garbage cans, and who knows what else still lurks underwater in the canal?

A week after Milton came ashore residents were allowed to take the ferry and return to the island. Recovery began. Skid steers, excavators, bulldozers, backhoes, and more arrived to remove sand and pull debris from yards. The narrow main road became not much wider than a single lane, with all the debris and piles of sand on either side. The silence was replaced by sounds of chainsaws, heavy equipment, and constant traffic. Electric, septic, plumbing, foundation, a/c, rebuilding, clearing, hauling was all in demand. Residents were sorting, searching, and finding. It was ongoing, and each day brought new discoveries and new challenges. Photos of missing and found items continue to be posted on the island Facebook page. And we were the fortunate ones. . .

SLEEPING BEAUTY

In the Disney version of the fairy tale, Sleeping Beauty, the evil witch, Maleficent, curses Princess Aurora at her birth. On her sixteenth birthday, she will prick her finger on a spindle and die. The good fairies hide her in the woods to protect her from Maleficent’s curse. We all know the story. The fairies are unable to stop Aurora from pricking her finger, but they prevent the curse of her death. Instead, she falls into a deep sleep and is rescued by the kiss from a prince. We were not forewarned that on September 26 and October 10 of 2024, the west coast of Florida would be hit by two back-to-back massive hurricanes. Individuals didn’t know they would also be diagnosed with cancer, have to postpone a wedding, lose a spouse, lose a home, or boat, or a car. Our warning was just days. Would a sixteen-year warning like Princess Aurora’s have prevented the massive destruction? Would we have written off life on this island, and never experienced the many years of pleasure we’ve had here? Could we have done anything more than we did to protect our homes? I honestly don’t think so. Helene gave us the warning, and we heeded it. But there was nothing we could do to prevent the destructive power Milton brought. Thankfully the interiors of most homes on pilings withstood the test because of today’s building standards.

MR. ROGERS

We are all exhausted—physically, mentally, and emotionally. It’s called hurricane fatigue. A post I saw on Facebook stated: It is possible to be thankful and heartbroken at the same time. So true.

We have seen the devastation from Helene and Milton, yet Mother Nature seems to recover. Magnificent sunsets, a perfect view of the comet, and Hunter’s full moon, all paraded through the sky, despite the damage below.  Plovers, terns, willets, egrets, and other shorebirds returned after the storm.  We watched dolphins porpoise and gopher turtles cross the road. The skimmers once again skimmed the surface of the water for their dinner at dusk. Pelicans flew past in formation. We heard the coo of an osprey as it flew overhead with a fish in its talons, oblivious of the debris and destruction below. A majestic blue heron stood on a toppled palm tree in the surf. Mother Nature has endured such storms and devastation for centuries. Helene and Milton may have won a battle, but Mother Nature will ultimately win the war.

Hurricanes remind us that we are not in control. Forces of nature expose our vulnerabilities. But we have resilience, and we have a choice over our attitudes. Neighbors are reaching out. The community is strong and supportive. The storms wreaked havoc, but like the shorebirds, dolphins and gopher turtles, we are still here.

My ultimate takeaway from Helene and Milton is a quote from Mr. Rogers.

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

Look for the helpers. Better yet, be a helper.