Let the Hurricane Roar

I have an old copy of Rose Wilder Lane’s Let the Hurricane Roar that I found at a vintage shop a few years ago.

I had read it as a middle-schooler, thinking it would be similar to my beloved Little House books, but it was much more somber with the undercurrents of grown-up calamity I didn't quite grasp back then.

There’s not an actual hurricane in the story, but a young couple in the midwest feel as if they’re battered by the storms of prairie life with grasshopper swarms, failed crops and winter snowstorms.

Whatever the season and wherever our location, storms are intimidating and threaten to shake our confidence.

I'd been hearing about Hurricane Irma for a solid week before she even touched down in my home state of Florida.

It seemed from the moment local newscasters reported the storm was headed our way, the store shelves were emptied by residents shellshocked by recent footage of flooding in Texas.

Back at work after Labor Day, I made my usual morning stop at Starbucks inside a SuperTarget and I couldn't figure out why the store was busy so early. Then I noticed that carts were filled with bottled water. Cases of them.

It dawned on me that people were stocking up for the storm so I rushed back to the shelves to grab one for myself, but I was too late. Water was completely gone and the storm was still six days away.

So I picked up a six-pack of bottled iced tea instead.

Throughout the week, I continued my quest for water.

Since it was being snapped up as quickly as stores were stocked, it was a little shocking to see police officers posted to limit shoppers to two cases, but I was always too late and found the pallets empty.

I resorted to just filling every pitcher and travel cup in my house with water and storing it in my refrigerator. I stashed Ziploc bags full of water in my freezer for ice too, in case I needed it.

I picked up whatever edibles I found left on the shelves, which caused me to end up with a curious assortment of foodstuffs to go along with my stash of batteries and flashlights.

I felt lucky to procure a loaf of pumpkin streusel bread apparently overlooked in the grocery store's bakery, since the bread shelves were completely bare. I figured I could make peanut butter sandwiches even if I had no power.

I had four boxes of granola bars, two bottles of Prosecco and a container of tortellini.

I cooked up the pasta {to eat hot or cold in the coming days} the day before the storm, and my sister and I went out to Cracker Barrel for our last meal the morning before the county curfew was enforced.

My little platter of biscuits, cheese-y scrambled eggs and bacon seemed especially scrumptious.

There's actually not that much to do while you wait for a hurricane to arrive.

Waiting gets tedious fast.

Time practically stands still as the wind picks up speed.

And only prayer can calm the storms of fear.

I drove a few streets over to my sister's to watch the Steeler game but when the satellite kept going out and the rain started pelting her pool, I headed back to my place to hunker down.

{I'm not a fan of that phrase but since it's a favorite of newscasters during hurricane coverage, I heard it more times than I could count over 48 hours}.

I had a stack of books and magazines ready to peruse but belatedly discovered that my two radios with back-up batteries don't actually run on batteries without being plugged in to a power source.

{Am I the only one who didn't know this? I had to Google to find out why.}

So I made sure my battery phone charger was fully charged and settled in front of the TV to monitor the progress of the storm. I thought for sure I'd be relaxed enough to read since, after all, this wasn't my first hurricane.

I was a veteran of three hurricanes in 2004 that frazzled my nerves and left me wandering from room to room during gusty winds, constantly checking on windows and peering outside.

But this time I knew what to expect.

Except hurricanes really do roar.

The wind is very loud. The windows rattle hard. The house shakes a lot.

And during a lull, the frogs eerily croak and sing with more gusto than they do when the weather is pleasant.

Riding out the storm was more unnerving than I'd remembered. Tornado warnings followed one after the other and I clutched my flashlight in case I needed to hole up in my powder room, the only downstairs room in my house without windows.

I barely closed my eyes all night long and counted the hours until the news said the worst would be over.

Finally by mid-morning, the gusts subsided so I could take a look around the neighborhood.

I went outside to find that my neighbor had already cleared the branches and leaves away from my front door.

He told me how he and his wife and kids had spent the entire night in their powder room, not sleeping a wink, listening to the wind roar like a freight train.

Somehow I'd wish I'd known they were as rattled as I was, since it would have been comforting.

I lost a few roof shingles and had a random leaky window, but I never lost power although it flashed off dozens of times during the storm. With most of the city without power, I felt incredibly grateful.

Storms eventually do subside. Calm does return. The sun rises to shine again.

There are some things in life only a storm can show us.

How to be stronger, wiser, braver. And maybe a little more prepared, too.

The battery-powered radio I ordered the day after the storm just arrived yesterday.

I put it on the shelf in my laundry room beside my lanterns, batteries and flashlights.

For the next time a hurricane roars.

*****

{My nephew, who is 13, shot and edited this one-minute video of his dad and our neighbors clearing trees the morning after the storm. My sister has the only speaking role.}

I'm joining my friends at Holley Gerth's place at Coffee for your Heart.