My last memory of a true hurricane was roughly over 10 years ago. It was a part of the long string of hurricanes that battered Florida and much of the south in the year 2004 — otherwise known as the Hurricane Renaissance. The names Katrina, Wilma and Frances all have special meaning to the kids of Florida. While they all wreaked detrimental havoc on many parts of the southern United States, to many of us, they serve as the memory of the last time any of us could remember a real hurricane. As the pathetic dribbles of rain courtesy of Tropical Storm Erika leaves Florida (I don’t know about you, but that was the scariest sun shower I’ve ever experienced), one is left to reminisce on what it actually means to be a Floridian during hurricane season.
Ah, hurricane season. Like the decline of a great empire, only memories of its past destruction are capable of inciting fear in the rest of the world. Eleven years have passed since the Hurricane Renaissance, and now the entire state of Florida scoffs at hurricane season. No longer do we take our local weather channel’s pleas seriously to be alert as we watch a tropical storm develop and then change its mind on what direction it wants to go a million times. No longer do we put up our hurricane shutters as weathermen and women draw so many multi-colored prediction lines across the state of Florida that it looks like a deranged Etch-a-Sketch.
No. No more. Instead, the Florida locals decide to stock up on supplies. These supplies consist of battery-operated lamps (you know, just in case), candles, alcohol, alcohol and—if we have time—probably more alcohol. In Florida, anything below a Category Two hurricane means we’re all having a party and probably jumping into the pool during the eye of the storm.
It was during Hurricane Isaac that I truly understood what it was like to be a Floridian during a hurricane. While this was only a Category One, Isaac did a decent job completely flooding my entire town to the point where my house was its own peaceful little island for three whole days. While I was perfectly happy living out my dream of finally having a moat to keep people away from me, I couldn’t resist venturing out into the streets that resembled something more of a river than an actual road.
This was the one time in my life that I can recall wading through waist-deep water and having to pause at a stop sign as a koi fish—which had escaped from my neighbor’s pond—and a kayak swam by me. It was truly a sight to behold.
In the end, being a Floridian during hurricane season is the equivalent of being a Floridian during the wintertime. Someone tells us a hurricane is coming and we respond with the same flippant and careless attitude that we do when someone tells us a cold front is coming. As in, we just say, “It’s Florida, how bad could it be?” And while we have gotten lucky so far, Florida, hurricane season isn’t over yet…it isn’t over yet.
