In the Dark of the Night

This wasn't my first hurricane in Florida. It was the first one that caused enough damage for folks to be concerned about in the region I live at. I live in Sarasota County, a mix of very wealthy people and a community of folks whose grandparents weren't allowed to use the beach that nature provided up until the 1960s. Those who had more money, be it the closet millionaires to other tech folks like me who moved here, had it a lot better; experiencing something akin to a tropical storm. Not all of us were that fortunate. I grew up during the blackouts in Brooklyn which was fun for the youth and horrifying for the adults. I also remember breaking all of the rules and playing out in the snow during a blizzard. I have a different understanding now of what it means to be in danger.

Since moving to Florida, the closest sense of community I have lives in Tampa, nearly 50 miles away. I normally travel there by charter bus when I'm working with the Party. It's a big state, easily taking twelve hours to drive from its closest end to Alabama to the view to Cuba. This made the events of Helene and Milton extremely concerning for me. I had resources to hold me over, fortunately from my own preparedness when living in California. The experiences above also taught me what to expect when the government fails to acknowledge your presence and delegates responsibility to companies. However, despite the misinformation, first responders were quick to help people.

The moment that fear began to take over was when the power went out. I had banks here and extra devices I could siphon power from. My (obsessive) knowledge of networking had me immediately grab my laptop to check what was broadcasting with my USB SDR adapter. That drained a lot of power quickly nor did it help because I was getting a lot of interference — I didn't realize that there was a downed power line not too far from me that could have contributed to this.

It was dark. The sun was already down and no artificial light was shining anywhere. Stella wasn't in her normal spot and was nestled in a corner, furthest from the window. She wasn't quiet; I could hear her whimpering. I tried to console her but even I was freaking out. There's a still from a video I shared of the storm's path that I was using to determine when and if it'd end. Until it did, nothing but the roaring winds and the shaking of my windows. The halls in the building were howling, presumably because a door was opening and closing due to the magnetic locks failing. For nearly three hours, I felt a sense of dread. I sat in the bathroom with my dog for some time until we entered the eye.

Neighbors pooled into the street to see what happened. For all of the howling, trees were the ceiling of damage that folks saw; sans some patio furniture that could have seen a longer life. A lot of dogs were happy to be outside, some howling out windows in jealously.

The Next Day Cleanup was (and still is) slow. Folks were anxious about what could be done. As mentioned before, I live in a county that either is from a level of old money (or new money) or from a background that things don't happen only because you say so. Older women were picking up common space furniture to give people a sense of normalcy. I helped clear out some space for folks to congregate as we began to share what we had — power banks, Internet from our phones and the like. There were kids that had no sense of direction since electricity was being focused on communication. I brought out a bunch of board games — Life, Monopoly (for Millennials, Lord of the Rings and My Hero Academia - very popular) — and they got to work. This gave some of the parents a chance to go forage for gas. I know that there's still very long lines for gas at locations as I write this, making these trips and pockets of care even more important; leaving young children in the dark for hours at a time isn't safe.

A local bar and grill managed to open up the next day. I went in for something to eat and check on the staff. There was a conversation that I won't reproduce in full but it had parts that I struggled to relate to. Two women were speaking about what they missed the most in the last two days. As it developed, one mentioned that power was more important to them than water; that they'd much rather have no water than it. I was reading a book as I was eating at the bar as this exchange went down. It made me think of those times in New York — without the power and the snow. If there was one thing I was grateful during this time, it was that I had water. You can go some time without food, we have gone longer as a species without power than with, but we absolutely need water. The angle the pro-power woman was coming from began clear as it was more that she didn't want to lean on her family over in Lido Park for aid. I couldn't help but smirk at this.

I'm thankful for the Party for helping me out when I needed it. The group at Streets at Paradise did work that many needed: they distributed power to whomever needed it, they gave food around the clock and are still working to keep this going. It's something that they've done prior to the events, which makes me more qualified than most. I'll be volunteering with them more and joining as a donor. I hope you can too: https://streetsofparadise.org/.

In the age-old adage of people on the ground, "we take care of us".