Day One, 9 a.m.
“The waiting is the hardest part.”---Tom Petty
You think you’re ready. The loose ends have been tied down, the vulnerable plants are inside, the bales of alfalfa covered with a heavy tarp. The horses, Zip and Dot, have been haltered. Both cars are gassed up and you’re on your way to the bank for cash in an hour. It’s not raining hard but you’ve forgone your walk to gather up and start the laundry. The waders have been placed by the door.
From experience, you know you’ve dodged a bullet. The hurricane which was to have made landfall further north and placed your area in grave danger has decided to tuck in well below Tampa and skitter off to Daytona, which means you still get plenty of rain but far fewer trees falling on your house, blocking the streets and taking down the utility wires. The earth around you, already saturated by previous rains, will soon resemble the Sargasso Sea, but your house is safe.
People begin to call, text, email and offer good wishes. In conversation, you accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, latch on to the affirmative and don’t bring up Mr. In-between. You think of the citizens shocked to their shoes in Fort Meyers on discovering a typhoon reputed to be heading for Tampa had come knock, knock, knocking at their front door. You know what storm surge does and this could be the king of all storm surges. Might be a good idea to check the Weather Channel and make sure the thing is still on course.
You notice your blog numbers are down because you published a day early and only 1/20th of your audience receives notification. Not to mention, people are a little busy. The neighbor next door is cutting trees well back from his utility wires. The lady next door to him is parking her truck near the front gate, certain it won’t make it through the upcoming lake which will soon form in front of her house. Paco Paco, the exalted high leader of the FATWOOD band writes to bemoan the possible postponement of the Last Tango In Gainesville movie and stage show.
Lila the Rottweiler knows something is up and she doesn’t like surprises. She looks up at you with worried eyes as you adjust the tarp, thinking something like, “Hmmn. We didn’t do this yesterday or the day before or the day before that. Should I be worried? How does this affect me?” When she goes in the house, she’ll be checking the darkest recesses of the clothes closet, looking for succor. Lila equates thunder with the likely end of the world so the arrival of Ian the Mean will bring a whole new level of angst. Better have a snack, just in case.
2:45 p.m.
Still no landfall, which leaves Weather Channel reporters vainly searching for something new and exciting to report. “The gutters on those rooves (yep, rooves) over there are jumping up and down,” one reporter screeched over the gale. Fairfield is calm, especially our tree- and plant-filled enclave. When you finally reach the street, the wind picks up significantly, but nothing to worry about. Only the smallest tree branches litter the driveway.
The trip to Williston, accomplished in a steady light rain, was uneventful. Someone at Walgreen’s decided to close just as I drove into the parking lot at 11:30. I have a testy attitude toward stores who just decide to open or close willy-nilly. If the Earth was on fire and/or the Martians were landing, the Subterranean Circus was open from ten to ten. Your customers expect reliability. Imagine the frustration of the eager customer who arrives at 9:30 in dire need of a roach clip, only to be turned away. It’s not a pretty sight.
Gas is readily available in Williston, though not everywhere. The cheap places are packed, the ones charging a dime a gallon more are empty. Things are slow at the post office but McDonald’s is packed for lunch. I’m the only customer in the six drive-in lanes of the Drummond Bank. I think they were glad to see me. Paco Paco messaged to tell me the power would not go out in Gainesville.
As usual, the storm will probably first be noticed in the night when the rain picks up, the thunder rolls and the trees creak and make agonizing noises in the gathering wind. We will have to explain what’s going on to Lila, who will by then have the covers pulled over her head in horror. We’ll sit her up, pat her head and tell her everything will be fine in the morning. Then we’ll go back to sleep and hope to hell we’re right.
Survivor for 9-28-2022 filed for posterity. Survivor out.
