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Stealing this idea from another forum.
Tell your hurricane stories.
Here are a few of mine.
Anyone else who ever spent any time in New Orleans knows the name Nash Roberts. He was a legendary weatherman. He was so good with hurricanes that they would bring him out of retirement whenever one came into the Gulf. He was old school grease pencil on a board. He didn't know how to use all the green screen tech. Anyway, you knew it was serious if Nash was on the TV.
I do not remember this, as I was just a baby. But I've heard the story told so many times. It was somewhere between 1973 and 1975. A storm was in the Gulf. Nash Roberts drew with his grease pencil, a path for the storm right through the front porch of our camp near Empire, La. My great grandmother Pavli (Pauline in Croatian) was kind of a legend with special powers. She was an extremely devout Catholic. All her children told stories of her cutting a waterspout in two by saying a prayer and driving a knife into a board. She had healing powers too, as I learned when I was older. In Jr. High, I busted up my ankle something awful. It was a bad sprain and very swollen. She prayed over it for about an hour. I walked out of her house after arriving on crutches. But I digress. She decided that if a hurricane was coming, she wanted to be in a wood framed house that would float, rather than her brick home. So she came to stay with my mom and dad and I. As yet another report came on TV and Nash drew a line right over The Camp, Pavli asked my mom for a salt shaker and some paper. She went into the front yard and started praying, tearing paper, and shaking salt here and there. Mom was worried about what the neighbors would say. But then, according to all witnesses, as soon as she came back inside from her incantations, Pavli laid down on the couch and said. "Gawd gonna move dat storm to Alabama." With the next TV update, Nash told everyone that the storm had made an unexpected turn to the East. I wish my dad was still around because he told the story better than me. Grandma Pavli protected The Camp until she died in 1996 at the age of 102. In 1997, we lost The Camp in a tiny category 1 storm named Danny. Up to that point, this was the worst day in my life. The loss of The Camp still affects me to this day.
1980: I was 7 years old and now aware of a lot of things. I knew how to read and write, I had my first big crush on a girl at school, and I was an accomplished fisherman who was allowed to run my own boat. My imagination however was EXTREMELY active. Hurricane Bob was the first storm with a boy's name. Apparently feminists had complained that it was sexist to only give female names to hurricanes. I didn't know what a feminist was, but Bob's name was a hot topic of conversation. The storm was a little scary. Dad had boarded up the windows and we all stayed in the living room and camped out together. I thought it was great fun. We played Monopoly and Mom and Dad sang songs, which I pretended to hate. I noticed noises outside, but unable to see out of any windows, I started imagining terrible things. My dad was very reassuring. Suddenly all went quiet and Mom and Dad started talking about "The Eye". Dad unlatched the back door and opened it carefully. He called me over and told my mom he wanted me to see "The EYE". My imagination ran wild as I imagined a HUGE EYE looking down on me from the sky. Dad grabbed my hand and told me not to worry. He took me outside and I had my eyes shut as hard as I could because I didn't want to see this huge EYE looking at me from above. LOL. I laugh now, but I was terrified then. My dad told me to open my eyes and I looked up to see blue sky. I was so relieved not to see a giant eye staring at me. Dad turned around and we saw BLACK sky all around us, but blue straight up. I'll never forget the experience. What caught my own eye next, was that my brand new Sesame Street swing set had blown into the neighbor's yard. I now had a new worry, that the neighbor would appropriate MY swing set and not give it back. Once again, Dad allayed my fears. What an imagination.
1997: Hurricane Danny. I was a senior at Tulane University. I was living with roommates in an apartment in Uptown New Orleans just off campus. It was a blustery day in the city, but we had no clouds or rain. As a category 1, it barely made the news. I worried about The Camp, but it had been through so many storms in my lifetime, I never thought a category 1 would cause much damage. We'd probably have to rebuild the dock, but that would be it. I even went out that night and passed a good time with friends. The next morning the phone rang and it was my dad. I'll never forget the pain in his voice when he said, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this my boy, but Monk, (a pet name that came from Monkey Man, as I was always up in a tree) The Camp is GONE." I'm crying now as I type this and remember that moment. We cried together on the phone. My mom and sister in the background were crying too. The Camp was such a special place for us, and now that was all gone. I drove the 20 minutes home to Harahan in a stupor. When I walked in the door, my mom, dad, and sister grabbed me and we all held on to each other and had another long cry. Dad told me that Jimmy Martinez, who ran the Delta Marina's boat launch, had gone out to survey the damage. We were the only ones who lost a camp. Dad and I decided we had to go out there and see for ourselves. Going down Highway 23, there was no damage until we hit Port Sulphur. Even then it was just tree branches and garbage cans strewn about. Jimmy launched our boat with the hoist and in his stoic manner, he grabbed my arm and said, "I'm real sorry Sandy. I know how much your camp means to you." Dad and I had gotten over the crying as we got in the boat. We made our way across Bay Adams and Halfmoon Bay. As we made the turn into my beloved Bayou Cook, we could always scan the horizon and see The Camp. On this day however . . . it wasn't there. The reality hit us both then. Dad had to stop the boat, as he just lost it and couldn't even steer. We sat there adrift, looking at where The Camp used to be, holding each other and crying. We finally got it together and slowly inched along down the bayou to where so many of our joyous times had happened. It really was all gone. The pilings were bare. The only piece of The Camp left was a new generator shed that we had just built. We pushed the boat up on the shell pile that was our front yard, got out and looked all over for anything. I found a pair of crab tongs that I had left on the porch, but nothing else. Dad pulled out a couple beers and we toasted the past. We shared stories and had more beers, drowning our sorrows. Until my mom died 5 years ago, this was the worst day of my life. We figured it had to have been a tornado.
I had nightmares pretty regularly for the next 8 years about SEEING the camp go, or sometimes I was inside when it broke apart. All those bad dreams ended suddenly in 2005. My family had a new nightmare that would affect us all. Her name was Katrina.
I'm going to have to take a break before I tell my Katrina story. Maybe tomorrow. Re-living Danny has me in quite a state right now.
I just walked outside to compose myself and it is eerily calm here in Angleton. My prayers are with those to the East who are going through Hell right now.
Tell your hurricane stories.
Here are a few of mine.
Anyone else who ever spent any time in New Orleans knows the name Nash Roberts. He was a legendary weatherman. He was so good with hurricanes that they would bring him out of retirement whenever one came into the Gulf. He was old school grease pencil on a board. He didn't know how to use all the green screen tech. Anyway, you knew it was serious if Nash was on the TV.
I do not remember this, as I was just a baby. But I've heard the story told so many times. It was somewhere between 1973 and 1975. A storm was in the Gulf. Nash Roberts drew with his grease pencil, a path for the storm right through the front porch of our camp near Empire, La. My great grandmother Pavli (Pauline in Croatian) was kind of a legend with special powers. She was an extremely devout Catholic. All her children told stories of her cutting a waterspout in two by saying a prayer and driving a knife into a board. She had healing powers too, as I learned when I was older. In Jr. High, I busted up my ankle something awful. It was a bad sprain and very swollen. She prayed over it for about an hour. I walked out of her house after arriving on crutches. But I digress. She decided that if a hurricane was coming, she wanted to be in a wood framed house that would float, rather than her brick home. So she came to stay with my mom and dad and I. As yet another report came on TV and Nash drew a line right over The Camp, Pavli asked my mom for a salt shaker and some paper. She went into the front yard and started praying, tearing paper, and shaking salt here and there. Mom was worried about what the neighbors would say. But then, according to all witnesses, as soon as she came back inside from her incantations, Pavli laid down on the couch and said. "Gawd gonna move dat storm to Alabama." With the next TV update, Nash told everyone that the storm had made an unexpected turn to the East. I wish my dad was still around because he told the story better than me. Grandma Pavli protected The Camp until she died in 1996 at the age of 102. In 1997, we lost The Camp in a tiny category 1 storm named Danny. Up to that point, this was the worst day in my life. The loss of The Camp still affects me to this day.
1980: I was 7 years old and now aware of a lot of things. I knew how to read and write, I had my first big crush on a girl at school, and I was an accomplished fisherman who was allowed to run my own boat. My imagination however was EXTREMELY active. Hurricane Bob was the first storm with a boy's name. Apparently feminists had complained that it was sexist to only give female names to hurricanes. I didn't know what a feminist was, but Bob's name was a hot topic of conversation. The storm was a little scary. Dad had boarded up the windows and we all stayed in the living room and camped out together. I thought it was great fun. We played Monopoly and Mom and Dad sang songs, which I pretended to hate. I noticed noises outside, but unable to see out of any windows, I started imagining terrible things. My dad was very reassuring. Suddenly all went quiet and Mom and Dad started talking about "The Eye". Dad unlatched the back door and opened it carefully. He called me over and told my mom he wanted me to see "The EYE". My imagination ran wild as I imagined a HUGE EYE looking down on me from the sky. Dad grabbed my hand and told me not to worry. He took me outside and I had my eyes shut as hard as I could because I didn't want to see this huge EYE looking at me from above. LOL. I laugh now, but I was terrified then. My dad told me to open my eyes and I looked up to see blue sky. I was so relieved not to see a giant eye staring at me. Dad turned around and we saw BLACK sky all around us, but blue straight up. I'll never forget the experience. What caught my own eye next, was that my brand new Sesame Street swing set had blown into the neighbor's yard. I now had a new worry, that the neighbor would appropriate MY swing set and not give it back. Once again, Dad allayed my fears. What an imagination.
1997: Hurricane Danny. I was a senior at Tulane University. I was living with roommates in an apartment in Uptown New Orleans just off campus. It was a blustery day in the city, but we had no clouds or rain. As a category 1, it barely made the news. I worried about The Camp, but it had been through so many storms in my lifetime, I never thought a category 1 would cause much damage. We'd probably have to rebuild the dock, but that would be it. I even went out that night and passed a good time with friends. The next morning the phone rang and it was my dad. I'll never forget the pain in his voice when he said, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this my boy, but Monk, (a pet name that came from Monkey Man, as I was always up in a tree) The Camp is GONE." I'm crying now as I type this and remember that moment. We cried together on the phone. My mom and sister in the background were crying too. The Camp was such a special place for us, and now that was all gone. I drove the 20 minutes home to Harahan in a stupor. When I walked in the door, my mom, dad, and sister grabbed me and we all held on to each other and had another long cry. Dad told me that Jimmy Martinez, who ran the Delta Marina's boat launch, had gone out to survey the damage. We were the only ones who lost a camp. Dad and I decided we had to go out there and see for ourselves. Going down Highway 23, there was no damage until we hit Port Sulphur. Even then it was just tree branches and garbage cans strewn about. Jimmy launched our boat with the hoist and in his stoic manner, he grabbed my arm and said, "I'm real sorry Sandy. I know how much your camp means to you." Dad and I had gotten over the crying as we got in the boat. We made our way across Bay Adams and Halfmoon Bay. As we made the turn into my beloved Bayou Cook, we could always scan the horizon and see The Camp. On this day however . . . it wasn't there. The reality hit us both then. Dad had to stop the boat, as he just lost it and couldn't even steer. We sat there adrift, looking at where The Camp used to be, holding each other and crying. We finally got it together and slowly inched along down the bayou to where so many of our joyous times had happened. It really was all gone. The pilings were bare. The only piece of The Camp left was a new generator shed that we had just built. We pushed the boat up on the shell pile that was our front yard, got out and looked all over for anything. I found a pair of crab tongs that I had left on the porch, but nothing else. Dad pulled out a couple beers and we toasted the past. We shared stories and had more beers, drowning our sorrows. Until my mom died 5 years ago, this was the worst day of my life. We figured it had to have been a tornado.
I had nightmares pretty regularly for the next 8 years about SEEING the camp go, or sometimes I was inside when it broke apart. All those bad dreams ended suddenly in 2005. My family had a new nightmare that would affect us all. Her name was Katrina.
I'm going to have to take a break before I tell my Katrina story. Maybe tomorrow. Re-living Danny has me in quite a state right now.
I just walked outside to compose myself and it is eerily calm here in Angleton. My prayers are with those to the East who are going through Hell right now.
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