My city of Tarpon Springs, Florida, was flooded during Hurricane Helene. Then we were blasted by the winds of Hurricane Milton two weeks later. We did not have the destruction of others north and south of us, but we were hurt.
Many lost everything when water up to 5′ came into their homes. It came in fast. When they say “storm surge”, that is exactly what it is. In a short period of time, those who were there to see it witnessed a tremendous amount of water fill our yards, streets and homes.
When I would see the devastation on TV of areas like the Panhandle of FL with Hurricane Michael, the devastation of Louisiana’s and Mississippi’s coasts with Hurricane Katrina, the flooding of Houston, the recent destruction of towns in North Carolina, I felt badly for those folks. But my impression was that they would begin the work of restoration and get on with their lives.
I completely missed understanding the extreme emotional toll it takes on individuals, families, neighborhoods and communities.
But now I am experiencing it.
I’m fortunate. My home is designed to flood. My lower level is cinderblock with weepholes. It floods and then it drains. If you don’t have anything in the garage, then you hose it out, spray anti-mold product, and wait for the next one. I had two feet in that lower space. Yes, it was messy, and compounded because prior owners had installed drywall and insulation that had to be ripped out. It was messy because when Covid hit, I shut down our office spaces and stored our furniture and records there. It was messy because when I moved from my significantly larger home to this smaller one, I hadn’t sorted through all the things I had stored down there when I had the time.
Others had their homes burned when electric car, golf cart and bicycle batteries exploded when saturated with salt water.
It has never flooded before like it flooded here with Helene. There was the “great storm” of 1921, and the No Name Storm of 1993 that occurred in March before the start of Hurricane Season, hence the name. Our community has survived Irma, Ian and Idalia, all three causing weeks long loss of power and a lot of tree damage and localized flooding.
But nothing as catastrophic as what we have experienced with Helene.
From a logistics perspective, it was difficult to get gasoline for weeks. Power was out all over with only a few isolated pockets that had kept power. Electricity is important here because the coastal residential areas are low. That means all gray and black water needs to be pumped to the sewage treatment plants. That requires electricity. The “Nothing down the Drain” restrictions were just lifted days ago. That meant no flushing, no showers, no laundry, no dishwashers. If you did dishes, dishwater had to go out on the lawn. If a community’s black water tanks filled, it would back up into the homes. I don’t need to explain what that means.
Personally, it took me a sold week to clean up from Helene. Replacing doors and the like will take longer, but the mess was gone.
And then there was Milton. While we didn’t see flooding, we saw another mess. Milton delivered sand and ash and dirt and dust.
We were instructed to put storm debris, which consisted of soggy drywall and insulation, particle board furniture, things that got wet (mattresses, clothes, bedding and the like), electronics, and plant material on the curb between the sidewalk and the road. FEMA was to big bring trucks. The city had a separate contract. They estimated 120,000 square yards of debris to be removed, with a timetable of 2-3 months.
Then the rodents took up living in the piles.
In addition to the physical damage, there is an emotional toll. I have never experienced anything like this. I’m not a crier, but there has been a very thin barrier of resilience that are holding my tears back every day. My neighbors are traumatized. We have all cleaned up, but the repair just seems so hard after what we have been through. Every meeting I go through starts with a discussion of the storm and how badly everyone was damaged.
These are things you don’t think about after seeing a flood somewhere else.
One neighbor, who recently moved from Wisconsin, observed that he has never lived through a disaster that you watch coming for a week. His experience was with tornados, and you had 5 minutes to get to shelter. The watch, wait, prepare, and evacuate lends its own level of stress that compounds when you come home and see what has happened to your own home, your neighbors and your city.
Another couple I know through Rotary shared that their 1920s built home was flooded 12 inches inside, requiring them to remove all contents and live elsewhere until their entire plumbing system (original to the house) is able to be replaced. They have been told it will likely be months before they are home. They are in their 80s. She tells me that she spends her days now getting quotes and arguing with the insurers. In her words, the insurance companies are in business to sell policies, not pay claims.
But with the hardship, our community has come together to help one another. Food has been delivered, help with hauling out debris and taking down drywall has been offered, even moving piles of debris from neighbors who couldn’t do it themselves has been done. Bedrooms in homes have been offered. Cars have been shared. Just like we saw on a national basis for 9/11. Politics were put aside as neighbor helped neighbor. It makes you want to cry for those beautiful acts of giving. It’s better than crying for the loss.
I’ve observed that my community is resilient.
In fact, Peace4Tarpon has ensured that our community is the first trauma informed city in the nation.
But what I have also found is that being resilient takes a lot of energy. It’s hard when the destruction is all around you. You see rats running around early in the morning when out for walks. But you also hear Great Horned Owls — they are eating well. So are the eagles, ospreys and other birds of prey that make the west coast of Florida their home.
My city is on the mend. My home is on the mend. I am growing stronger again with every day. Two months past the storm, we still talk about it on phone calls and in meetings. To the rest of the world, we are getting on with life. And we are. But it takes a lot.
As I gather with family and friends this Thanksgiving, I will be reflecting on the kindness of neighbors helping neighbors get through the trauma of home damage. I will be thankful that my losses were minor as compared to others. And I will be grateful for my personal community of family and friends who held my hand as I dealt with the threats and the recovery of these storms.
I wish all of you a grateful Thanksgiving with friends and family.
