I don't like the inconvenience of losing power, or gaining a few inches of water in the basement. I'm not a fan of fear either, the kind incited by tired local weather people predicting doom from inside a giant concrete news station. Luckily where I live, storms don't pose a tremendous threat. Not that they don't hit hard and not that they don't cause damage, but it's nothing like hurricanes on the coast or Midwestern tornadoes.
(A few years ago, after a deadly tornado took out a town, the girls started praying for "the Midwest with their tornadoes" every night. The following winter, it felt like we should edit them out. It was old news. But that's strangely hard to do, like you're turning your back. And so we never did. I guess if it's not tornado season, there's still clean-up going on – of lives and property. So it stays, along with Haiti and Japan and "Aunt Gail, who we love so much.")
I have lived through many storms. The happy kind, the annoying kind, and the scary kind. I have been evacuated from a beach town twice. Once when it was 95 degrees and sunny as we sat in traffic on the one and only escape route. We sat and sat for several hot, frustrating hours. Oh, how I wanted to turn around and ignore the dumb radar, go for a swim in the rough surf and get swept away forever. It was really hot. And sunny. If I'm fleeing a storm, I want lightening striking the ground all around my dancing feet, while clouds swirl, hail bounces and sirens scream. Not really.
For me, the storm that stands out the most in my "stormy" life, was a hunk of a hurricane named Fabian.
It was September of 2003 and we were invited to a wedding in Bermuda. What fun!
We have friends who live in Bermuda (jealous?) so we arranged to stay with them for the weekend and leave Lu behind. She was twenty months and we had never been apart. But she was staying with Aunt Gail which meant a weekend of Lu-centric love and adoration. I wasn't worried, I was thrilled!
Unlike the Caribbean, Bermuda is rarely in a hurricane's direct path. As we were getting ready to go, we caught wind (ha!) of a storm that might breeze by the island causing rain. No big deal. A gray day in a tropical paradise is still a day in a tropical paradise.
As we were in flight, things changed. The hurricane took an unusual turn and had Bermuda in its crosshairs. It happened that fast. We landed and then we were stuck. The airport closed.
And there we were - on the top of a hill, on a chunk of land, in the middle of the ocean. To watch a storm gather strength, intensify, and rapidly approach our tiny patch of earth was both awesome and awful. We stayed outside as long as we could, taking in the gathering force, and then we hunkered down.
Did I mention that our Bermuda friends had a three month old baby? And that cell phone reception was spotty at best? We helped board up our friends' windows and then waited. Power went out so we played penny poker and Operation by candle light. And waited. It was loud and so, so surreal, but we made the best of it. I only cried a little. I missed Lu.
The next day, trees were bent in half, every flower in Bermuda had been blown to sea, debris was everywhere, and the bridge to the airport was washed away. The only bridge to the only airport. It was the worst storm to hit Bermuda in 50 years.
We turned on the emergency radio and they were re-airing yesterday's broadcast. Ugh, you laid back island! After many attempts, I finally got through to my dad at home. Lu was fine and Al Roker said the airport would be closed for at least a few days. Thanks, Al! Seriously, we were desperate for any information. You don't realize how much we rely on the steady stream of current details we are privileged to receive in our great country until you're without it.
The wedding took place in the hotel lobby where many of the guests were staying. There was no power, roof tiles were scattered about, and a few giant boulders had rolled (flown?) into the swimming pool. It was like a disaster movie set.
After nearly a week of squatting with our very gracious friends and waiting for word on the bridge, we managed to get seats on the first plane bound for home. It had been six days, but it felt like a thousand.
Being separated from your baby, experiencing the wrath of God, relying on the kindness of friends. It was emotional in all the clichéd and obvious ways. But it also made me love Al Roker and everything he represents – deeply and wholly – and that was unexpected.
What summer storms do you remember most?
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| There's destruction on the horizon. But we're still smiling! |
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| Going for the funny bone. |
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| The wedding resort. |
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| A palm tree's unfortunate end. Ouch. |
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