It wasn’t a picnic here in Tampa – to say the least.
I live in Tampa Evacuation Zone C. A few days ago, an evacuation order went out for zones A and B. This led to a lengthy debate with my husband. I suggested we should leave and go to Georgia for a mini vacation in Savannah. She said it would cause more discomfort and it would also be expensive.
She was right. Two days before the hurricane’s arrival, our highways turned into parking lots, full of impatient, groaning drivers. It took many of them twelve hours to leave the state (usually it only takes ~4 hours). The return home turned out to be even longer for many.
Unfortunately, not much fun or comfort awaits them here in Tampa.
The structure
For me, the worst part of the hurricane isn’t even the hurricane itself, but the days leading up to it. You’re stuck in this vortex of not knowing, of waiting to see what will happen. You see how the news media whip up a storm of doom that threatens to wash us all into the sea. Friends and family text you all the time. I was ready to just be done with it, ready to roll the dice and see what fate had in store.
The wobble tracker put the storm just south of Sarasota, 45 minutes away. Then, at the eleventh hour, it wobbled north, causing the eyewall to pass right below us. Unfortunately, this meant that the strongest winds ultimately hit Tampa.
A few hours before the storm really hit, it was raining and the wind was blowing. Laura and I thought, “Hey, this isn’t that bad.”
Boy, did we speak too soon. Just an hour later the storm hit. Even though my house is made of a hybrid concrete block and wood, it rattled and shook in the wind.
It is difficult to overestimate how strong this wind was. My windows shook and bent so hard in their frames that I feared they would explode and send shards all over us. I said to Laura, “Let’s close these curtains and get away from it.”
The rain was perpetual. There was no audible thunder or visible lightning. Just strong steady wind and rain.
The megastorms initially came in pulses. Then the front of my house looked like a wind tunnel, with the wind blowing almost horizontally and the raindrops turning into long bullets shooting past them. I was in awe of the power. If I had gone outside I would have been blown away.
I was extremely concerned that my property would be damaged. My house was repaired two years ago due to structural defects that led to water intrusion. A previous storm left my windows on the inside of the house crying. I decided to distract myself and went to my office, put on my headphones and played some video games. The wind howled repeatedly through the night, whistling through cracks in windows and doorways.
The storm started around 3 p.m. It peaked between 9:00 PM and 11:00 PM. Our electricity almost survived. We have underground power, so it is intrinsically more stable than outside lines. Over the course of two hours, the power was turned off about four different times for several seconds before coming back on. I got so excited when it came back on and shouted, “Yes! Maybe we’ll keep our power, Laura!’ Then in a final gasp the power went out and the house became pitch black. The heat worked its way in.
The morning after
It was a long night and neither of us slept well. I forgot how miserable it is to sweat so much while trying to sleep. The sheets stick to your body and roll with you, turning you into a burrito. We had no internet and our cell phone signals were and still are spotty because the cell towers were overloaded.
About 80% of Tampa lost power. A full 70% are still without at the time of writing this (including us).
Houses behave strangely under enormous wind pressure. The only damage to our house was the tiles on the first floor. The pressure of the wind pushed the building inwards, causing the tiles to crack and fray. In the scheme of possible damage, I was grateful that this was it.
We live near downtown Tampa, in a busy suburb. We decided to take a walk and see how everyone was doing. There we saw the devastation.
Several huge trees were ripped from their roots and thrown across popular roads and onto homes. We turned into a neighboring street and saw an old large oak tree, which had been thrown on the ground like a toy:
Later I saw officers with chainsaws helping workers cut it into pieces. Many street lamps are still without power.
We walked past several houses where parts of entire roofs had been torn off. A couple was draping a blue tarp over their top floor. A man’s huge boat lay sideways in his driveway, warped and dented on the side. Through it all, there was a sense of community and everyone worked together to help neighbors clear the countless piles of branches. Many people stopped to check on each other. It’s the only thing we can do in this situation.
The area is also noticeably brighter, oddly enough. All trees had a haircut. Many bend from the wind in the same southwest direction.
The saddest case I saw was that of a woman in her sixties in her front yard, with a rake. We stopped and talked to her. She was thin, weak and sweating. She was woken by a branch crashing through her bedroom:
She is also undergoing chemotherapy. I wondered how much bad luck a person can have in life. But she seemed in good spirits and had family nearby who could help her.
“The tree is basically my neighbors,” she said. “But I could only cut it down to my property line.”
“Does the insurance cover the damage?” I asked.
‘I really hope so. I’m already working with them on the file.’
I suddenly felt a deep frustration, because I knew there was a possibility that the claims department would come up with a reason not to pay for this damage. I pushed the thought from my mind.
We talked some more before parting ways, and I wished the woman all the best.
Her predicament, and the broader storm in general, reminded me how small most of my problems really were. My concerns about small spills, money, and social dynamics all pale when you consider how fleeting life can be. 17 tornadoes also touched down during the storm, claiming several lives. A friend who lives south of me lost everything to flooding. He will now participate in the long and excruciating process of filing a claim with a greedy insurance company.
The danger has not passed. We are still dealing with loose power lines. There is water everywhere and branches are still falling. During our walk I noticed a utility pole that had been lifted into the air and re-positioned in the middle of the road:
Shortly after arriving we were led away from this area by the police, which is understandable.
I must admit that life is quite miserable without electricity. The lack of temperature control, access to the internet, or even businesses and things to do cuts you off from so much. I’m writing this from our airport, one of the few places with air conditioning and internet.
We went for a drive last night and marveled at how dark the whole city had become. Even the busiest intersections in the city were illuminated only by the street lamps nearby. More than a dozen electric trucks passed us, rushing toward an invisible crisis.
Last night there was a lone McDonalds open, recently restored by those linemen. The line to this McDonalds was at least two hundred meters long. It was absolutely incredible and it spoke to the desperation so many people felt.
We are hurting here in Florida. Many of them have lost so much. But we will get through this. Every day the city comes a little more alive. Thank you everyone for your thoughts and messages of support.
I’m a former financial analyst turned writer from sunny Tampa, Florida. I started writing eight years ago and fell in love with the craft. My goal is to provide nonfiction, story-driven content to help us live better and maximize our potential.
