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It’s June. Hurricane season has officially begun, and
lasts through November 30th. As a native Floridian, I’ve lived
through countless hurricane seasons—some mild and others downright scary.
Hurricanes aren’t a laughing matter, but a little
humor does help. Today’s blog is about the dark side, the humorist side, and
personal experiences of hurricanes.
On the dark side.
Eons ago, my aunt’s first husband was an Air Force hurricane hunter. He and his
crew’s job were to fly a specially equipped aircraft directly into the eye of
the storm to collect crucial data that would help protect lives and property.
He was stationed in the Caribbean. By the time he and his crew were in the air,
the hurricane had already reach category 4 status. Sadly, this was his final
mission. The aircraft, and the eleven people aboard disappeared and were never
found. Very little was ever learned about the crash. My aunt had to wait seven
years before she could declare her husband legally dead.
On the humorist side.
Well, maybe not, especially if you’re afraid of snakes. This tidbit was taken
from the Miami New Times. “Hurricane Andrew released invasive pythons into the Everglades, thus
permanently screwing up the state's already dumb ecosystem:
The Burmese python has become the national poster child for the [invasive
species] problem. The snakes were first spotted in the wild as early as the
1980s, but many observers believe the current crop haunting the Everglades was
tossed into the area during Hurricane Andrew. Florida Fish and Wildlife
Conservation Commission Officer Pat Reynolds was on the wildlife beat in 1992
when the Category 5 storm tore through South Florida. After the hurricane,
Reynolds went to check on an animal importer in the area who was known for his
faulty cages.
Inside a greenhouse near Homestead General Airport, the two owners had been
using shelves meant for growing orchids to store their animals, including
pricey pythons. "They put all of their reptiles on there in these Dixie
cup things," says Reynolds, who retired in 2011. "There were little
baby pythons — real colorful when they're that young — and they could stuff 'em
in a little container and put the top on it."
When the storm whipped through, off went the snakes.
"Andrew comes, blew that place apart. All of those containers just flew
out like Frisbees," Reynolds says. "The direction of the wind was
into Everglades National Park — the park boundaries were less than a half-mile
from there. So, all these animals blew in there. That's where the pythons came
from."
My Personal Experience. Some years ago, hubby and I, along with several members of
our travel group, were at a Guest Ranch. We were looking forward to some
horseback riding, and the Saturday night rodeo. A beautiful weekend turned into
an unexpected and very wet adventure. It began to rain Friday night. Saturday
morning, we awoke to about an inch of water in our hotel room. We contacted our
tour leader and was assured that management was aware that the bottom floor
rooms were being flooded. She told us that we would be moved to a second story
room; to place our luggage on the bed, and not to worry, that someone in an ATV
would pick us up and drive us to the resort restaurant. While enjoying our
breakfast, the rain became a raging storm. We had barely finished eating when
my cellphone rang. Our tour host called to say that due to a hurricane and
flooding from the Kissimmee River, the ranch was being evacuated. I asked if
someone was coming to drive us to where our tour motorcoach was parked. The
answer was, “yes.”
After waiting for twenty minutes, and
several phone exchanges with our tour host, it was determined that the water
had risen to the point that the ATV’s couldn’t get to us. Hubby and I pulled
off our shoes and began walking. When we left the restaurant, the water had
already risen to my knees. At some point during our half-mile swim-hike, hubby
had to hold on to me to keep the current from sweeping me away. I’m a fairly
good swimmer, however, the rushing waters were more forceful than I was strong.
The staffer’s reply was, “Oh, it’s not
gators you needed to worry about. It’s moccasins. The swamp is filled with ‘em.”
I was already shivering from being wet
and cold, but his words caused goosebumps to multiply all over my body.
As soon as we boarded the coach, our
tour host did a head count to make sure no one was missing. We were barely in
our seats when the driver headed down the long dirt road toward the main
highway. We could see ranch hands desperately trying to get the cattle and
horses to higher ground. The water had risen so fast that the tops of the fence
post were no longer visible, and the road had completely disappeared.
No one spoke. We watched the
windshield wipers doing double time as buckets of water splashed against the
windshield practically obliterating the driver’s visibility. There was a
collective sigh of relief when we finally made it to the highway. Still, no one
spoke. I think we were all silently sending up prayers of gratitude to our Lord
and Savior for watching over us.
The next day, we learned that our
motorcoach was the last vehicle to get out. The road had collapsed and became
impassable. The owners of the ranch refunded a goodly portion of our money, and
with an invitation to return as soon as they were able to reopen.
Over the years, hubby and I have had
many hurricane experiences. I never look forward this time of year, but I
always make sure to be prepared for any emergences, because we never know if we
might lose power for a few days or even up to a week.
Hurricane season is no laughing matter. For those of you, dear readers, who live in hurricane prone states, be prepared, and be safe.
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