by Mimi Hedl
Early October was a good time for me to leave the farm and see the family, even though I knew there was a small chance there’d be a hurricane. I left for the airport in Saint Louis in high spirits. My ‘96 Honda Accord shows small signs of age, especially when it comes to zooming into action. I sweat bullets every time I need to go somewhere. Definitely a PTSD of sorts. When I mentioned this to Hilary, she said, “Mom! You’ve always had car problems.” And as I let my mind dip into the past I thought of Ol’ Red, the Ann Elizabeth, the Golden Chariot and I had to agree. Car problems have been as constant as the rising sun. And so has my reaction. I cheer when she starts.
Saint Louis sits about two hours away from Strawdog if I kick up to sixty mph. Fun to watch the yard signs and how they changed from red to blue as I approached the city. The autumn colors kept me dazzled. When I arrived at Super Park, I backed into my parking space, just in case the Honda had a fit.
My flights were flawless. We arrived in Florida ahead of time. There was chatter everywhere about a storm. While waiting for my luggage I talked with a woman close by, asking her if she’d heard about the storm. “Do you know who I am?” I assured her I had no idea. She said her stepfather was head of hurricane prediction in Miami and that yes, a hurricane was coming, Milton, a big one. and he said it’d be a bad one. Oh wonderful, I thought. What great timing. Maybe I should head out of Dodge…
Hilary picked me up and we chattered away as we drove to their river home in Melbourne Beach, a few blocks from the Atlantic, with the Indian River in their back yard. Water, water, everywhere.
The family was in good spirits. I was starving and ready for a beer. Kerry parked me on one of their decks, facing the setting sun as Hilary finished up dinner preparations. He introduced me to Oscar the osprey and pointed out the dolphins, the schools of fish and Harry the Heron balancing on one leg in perfect tai chi form. We toasted with our Hawaiian beers without even a mention of the pending disaster. I’d never been in a hurricane.
Logan, my youngest grandson, wasted no time in showing me the weather maps and where Milton was building up pressure. Ever since a small boy, he has talked authoritatively about the weather. No kidding, He seems like the real deal. He knows the lingo, pays close attention to the weatherman and assured me, “Oh yeah, it’s going to be a bad one!” From that moment on, he kept pulling me downstairs to the weather channel to show me what Milton was up to. He has the homeopathic approach to dealing with stress.
Everyone had things on their to do list. The first morning Hilary was keen to finally plant the plumeria cuttings she’d rooted and had in pots for over a year.. Kerry dug the holes while Hilary and I figured out where each plant should go. Their sandy soil is perfect for Hilary’s favorite small tree as frangipani, another name, will rot in heavy soils. I imagined their tropical paradise filled with five more of these fragrant plants and wondered which pollinators they’ll attract. I also thought about what Milton might do to these newly planted cuttings and hoped they wouldn’t be flung out of the earth before they could make contact. Anxiety number three.
We had several days of normal life, following the routine of the boys. Logan had Brazilian Ju Jitsu lessons and I wanted to see him practice. Kerry was interested in sandbags, the first concrete notion I’d seen of the pending hurricane. While Kerry went on his fortuitous search, I watched Logan wrestle with a Gray belt. He held his own and made some great moves, never having to tap the Gray belt’s shoulder.
On the way home we saw people shoveling sand into bags in near darkness. Kerry saw his opportunity and turned the car around. People had been waiting hours to fill up their bags so we felt lucky there was still sand and a couple of men willing to help fill the bags. Logan was out in a flash with the men and from inside the car I heard happy chatter as they filled, tied and carried the bags to the trunk. I was impressed, each one weighing at least thirty pounds and Logan ten years old. When we returned home, Hilary and Brady came out and worked in the dark to get the sandbags to the back of the house. We were getting prepared.
By Tuesday I’d made enough trips downstairs with Logan’s doomsday forecast to last a lifetime. How could he remain so calm? I imagined downed palm trees blocking the roads and highways, power out and water gushing into the house. Maybe the roof would blow off. Brady, oblivious, but conscientious about his homework, sat in the cozy little nook looking out to the Indian River, with his computer and head set and wandered into that sacred world only teenagers can enter. I felt jealous.
That afternoon Kerry took the boys to watch Transformers at a movie theater rented out by friends of theirs, just for these forty teenagers. Kerry assured me I would not want to go with them. Popcorn was thrown, ice spilled and teenage boys were screaming and laughing.
Hilary had scheduled a pedicure for the two of us, Since I’d never had one, she thought it would be fun to have a moment of pleasure before who knows what would happen. And it was. My rough garden feet felt pampered and loved. A delightful young woman had her work cut out for her and she met the challenge. We left smiling, well aware that Milton was making tracks, as everyone was putting things away, stocking up, preparing for strong winds and flooding.
School was canceled for the rest of the week. Whoops and hollers followed. A few groans from the parents. Hilary continued working from home. Kerry and I, plus the boys now and then, collected everything that might blow away, found special battery chargers, flashlights and coolers. Kerry bought bags and bags of ice before the stores ran out. We forgot about getting gas until there was no more to be had. There was quiet discussion among the parents as to whether or not we should evacuate. Logan kept showing me category 5’s for Milton, now doing his worst to Mexico. Evacuate?!
That thought gave me great anxiety. I imagined being stranded without gas, a flat tire, or one of a dozen mechanical problems. Where could we stay? What would we eat? I was getting a dose of reality that folks in hurricane country have to face year after year. When we walked down to see the ocean before Milton came, all the neighbors were out too. Mostly unfazed, casually doing the last bit of preparation, stopping Kerry to chit chat. No one was evacuating. No one was panicking. Luckily, Hilary and Kerry decided staying home, with hurricane-proof windows, a better call. I was relieved and wondered how many hurricanes you have to survive to feel relaxed at the arrival of the next one.
After dinners, we would sit at the dining room table and play games, laugh and tease each other. Our weatherman didn’t even check Milton’s progress. It was peaceful. I almost forgot. Then Wednesday morning rain came in bands, band after band, until evening and into the night. We were in our cozy nest. We felt nervous except for our weatherman and teenager. Waiting for the unknown requires lots of deep breathing.
Logan slept with me and fell asleep immediately. In the night, I woke up and could see the palm trees swoop down to the earth as if they were greeting a returning queen. I watched for a while, grateful to have shelter and then fell back to sleep, I couldn’t hear a thing with the hurricane proof windows, only see wild movement.
In the morning Logan greeted me with a happy good morning. We were still alive. The yard was covered with branches and seaweed. Soon we’d be out picking up debris and pushing a wheelbarrow to a massive brush pile the city would pick up. The boys complained but did the work. Brady mostly hauled the wheelbarrow while Logan and I loaded the seaweed with our hands. It hadn’t begun to smell yet. Hilary and Kerry worked with amazing vigor. The head gardener would be impressed.
The next day Hilary attacked the banana trees heaved up by Milton. I had brought about 40 cuttings of lemon grass in my suitcase and planted them near the plumerias, all still intact. Kerry cleaned out some of the debris in the pool, with more downed palm tree limbs and seaweed to pick up.
Homemade pizza and a game of Mexican dominoes was our treat after our cleanup. As I looked at each one of my family, I felt a gush of gratitude for them and the calmness they showed me in my first hurricane. Probably the worst that happened during my entire visit was a morning, before school, when Brady got a comb stuck in his hair. Hilary patiently and gently worked to get it out. It was a slow, agonizing process.
Before I knew it, I was back in Saint Louis at Super Park, walking towards my Honda, nervous but hopeful. Oh dear. No luck. My fear only reinforced. I walked to the shuttle bus and asked for help. Luckily the woman who takes care of problems was close by.
I’d made plans to visit my friend Jessie and her new boyfriend, Daniel, before I left the farm. I hadn’t met Daniel or seen their new apartment. Still somewhat traumatized by the Honda not starting and memories of the week, I tried to relax. I parked right on Lindell Boulevard, a four-lane highway in the midst of the city. Walking up the four flights of stairs to their apartment, I was reminded of the excitement of a city. It was good to meet Daniel, from Brazil. He knew many of the places I knew in my time in Rio de Janeiro. We tried to fit a lifetime of stories into a few hours, before leaving for an orchard over in Illinois, where we’d meet their friends, pick apples, and enjoy an autumn afternoon.
When we returned, Jessie thought the Honda would be safer in their apartment complex’s underground garage. We walked out to the Honda laughing and chattering away. Only to find she was dead. I used the TackLife charger Kerry had given me to bring her to life, grateful we didn’t have to jump her with another vehicle. After shutting down the Honda, in a darker space, I saw the front brake light on. Jessie needed to start dinner for more friends so Daniel and I tried to figure out what was going on. I called Kerry, he gave us an idea what to look for and Daniel immediately went to YouTube, looked up the problem, and found a solution using a penny and double-sided sticky tape.
We found the brake light switch stopper, on the floor under the brake pedal. Daniel put the penny where the brake light switch stopper was so I could drive home and address the problem later. He felt ecstatic that he could solve the problem as his family claims he has no mechanical skill. As a neurologist, I think he can be forgiven.
I left early Sunday morning, with memories of old friends and some new ones, driving through a quiet part of Saint Louis I’d never seen before. I felt peaceful, having survived a hurricane, an old Honda and a multitude of anxieties. I decided to stop at the courthouse in Union, in Franklin County, and write in my journal so as not to lose a day. Benjamin Franklin invited me to sit. I’ve never sat with a statue before. I found him charming and funny, as I celebrated my autumn odyssey. He was smiling at his Poor Richard’s Almanac, thinking about what he’d written. I smiled back, happy to be in such good company. If you’ve never sat with a statue, I highly recommend it.
How I Learned to Cook, an Artist's Life ─ Barbara Shark 