Hurricane Charley

I first heard about Hurricane Charley Wednesday evening when they were starting to predict land fall on Florida's Gulf Coast. It didn't bother me. Local news channels are always warning of gloom and despair. It has happened before, I thought, and it will happen again; there is no way this hurricane will hit us. Hurricane Bonnie went through the Panhandle the next day. I went to a movie with my girls; "The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement." It wasn't much to crow about, but as we left the movie theatre the first bands of Charley began dumping rain on us. I wasn't worried. The last time there was a storm in the gulf we got buckets of rain. When I got home my parents were watching the weather. The newscasters were saying the storm would hit Tampa, and Orlando would probably get some fairly high winds, but the brunt of the storm would miss us. My parents decided we should start getting ready, just in case. We had been working on painting parts of our house, so the garage was full of painting supplies and paint dust from the doors which I had sanded to a satin-smooth finish before painting them creamy white. Since I had made the mess of white powder, I got to clean it up. I missed the last night of Ultimate Frisbee with the college group for the summer. I spent 2 hours cleaning and vacuuming the garage, and moving boxes around so there was room for both of our cars.

That night little changed in the weather forecast. The weather man was still saying Charley was headed for Tampa, and they evacuated the city. Thousands of people from the Tampa area flooded Orlando the next day.

I woke up late Friday, hoping that I had missed any further precautionary measures my parents had taken if Charley had shifted while I slept. They hadn't done anything more, but Charley had started to shift, and it was looking like he would come ashore a little farther south than originally predicted, but still steering far west of Orlando.

Dad came home from work around 1:30 and made the executive decision to tape up the windows like we had done for Hurricane Floyd a few years back. Fortunately we still had blue painters tape left over from our painting project. I went around the house putting blue Xs on the windows. By the time we had finished it was around 3 pm, and the Channel 9 weather man was saying that Charley was coming for us, and Charley was now a class 4 hurricane. It had jumped from 2 to 4 in under 30 minutes.

By the time Charley came aground at Punta Gorda, we were ready. The windows were taped, the cars were in the garage, and all of Mom's potted plants were inside the house, along with some friendly lizards. All we could do was wait. Orange county officials order mandatory evacuations for people in mobile homes. Folks with special needs started getting to shelters on the west side of Orange County. Around 7 pm tornado warnings went into effect for most of Central Florida. We sat in the living room watching reporters on the coast fight the wind and rain of Charley's fury. One cameraman caught an image of the roof of the Port Charlotte Post office losing its roof and all of the mail inside. Another cameraman captured footage of his reporter being struck by pieces of the roof of the building behind which they stood. As Hurricane Charley came inland it lost a lot of power, but there was still enough to do a lot of damage, it was still a class 2.

By 8:30 we were feeling the effects of Charley. The wind was rattling the windows, and the rain poured out of the sky. I looked out our front door and could hardly see the flowers 10 feet away at the end of the walkway. I went upstairs in search of my flashlight should the power go out, but came back downstairs quickly when a strong gust of wind shook the second story of my house. I could feel the floor quiver beneath my feet. My parents moved us into their bedroom which they deemed the safest room in the house that wasn't a closet. We sat there watching the TV as the storm tore through Orlando. Charley had come much farther east than anyone had anticipated. We watched as the radar showed the storm passing over our city, the eye of Charley coming within a few miles of our house. Every so often we would hear a thud as something struck the house or as tree branches fell to the ground. The door to my parents’ bedroom would vibrate as the winds pushed through tiny gaps around the front door. My dad and I went to check the house and make sure we hadn't lost a window. We could already see spots on the ceiling where rain water was coming through the roof. Tine bubbles of water formed and popped as the wind forced it through the cracks between the door and wall. Dad pushed furniture and one of Mom's plants against the door for reinforcement. Through the back window I saw branches from the neighbor's tree hanging on the sagging fence. Once the worst had passed my brother and I returned to the living room and watched the remainder of the Olympic Opening Ceremony. After the wind stopped howling I went to bed upstairs in a quiet house.

Sledding

I grew up on a farm in Virginia; at least that's what I tell people. My earliest memories were created on that farm, many of them fond, some not. The one that seems to come back to me the most is as follows.

One winter a big storm came through the valley, dumping inches of white fluffy snow on the ground. It was perfect for sledding. My brothers and I made the short hike out to our favorite sledding hill, which doubled as the front hay field when not covered in snow, dragging sleds behind us. We had borrowed our friend's toboggan sled, a long molded sheet of hard plastic on which three children could slide down the hill at incredibly fast speeds, or so it seemed to our young minds. Upon conquering the sledding hill, my brothers and I would pile onto the sled, Keith in the front, then me, then Paul bringing up the rear. The first few runs would take a minute to get started; the snow was still soft and the sled would stick. Paul would place his hands on my back and run and push us like an Olympic bobsled team going for the gold medal, jumping on just as the sled began to speed down the hill. Sometimes we would successfully make it all the way down the hill, coming to a stop slowly at the bottom. More frequently one of us would lean to one side throwing the sled off balance and thrusting us head first into the snow, sending us rolling and laughing all the way down the hill. We sledded for most of the afternoon, our cheeks and foreheads becoming rosy as the sun glinted off the tiny snow crystals, slowly baking our faces. The sun sank low on the horizon and our tummies told us it was time to go home. We walked home, pulling the sleds behind us, smiling and laughing, knowing that Mom would have grilled cheese and soup for us when we got back.

That evening the farmer who rented the land let the cows into the front hayfield. If you've ever been around cows, you know that they don't plan where they relieve themselves. In this case they relieved themselves on our nicely packed sledding hill. That evening it froze again. The snow which had partially melted during the day turned to ice, and on top of the snow was an ever so thin layer of ice. Also at the top of the snow on our sledding hill were frozen cow pies, dotting the hill like landmines ready to destroy a perfect trek down the hill. Soon after lunch we found those pies, and saw them as a challenge. We were determined that the cow pies would have no effect on our sledding for the day. WE WOULD NOT LET IT STOP US!!

more to come...