Earth Experiences #9: Hurricane Helene

Riding out the storm in a hotel room while Mother Nature wreaks havoc

Sissy, safe and sleepy in a hotel bed.

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Hurricane Helene is headed our way. Because Julie and I live in a 5th wheel with two high-anxiety dogs, we relocate to a hotel when the weather gets dicey. Sissy and Ruby do so much better when they’re not rocking back and forth in an RV with rain battering the roof and windows. We do so much better when we’re not trying to continuously calm anxious dogs.

All packed up and ready for the storm.

We’re not directly in the storm’s path today, but my beloved St. George Island is. This is the place I took my four kids when they were little. So many Spring Breaks were spent on that island with dear friends by our sides. So many memories. Ice cream at Aunt Ebby’s; beach fare at the Blue Parrot. George ate his weight in oysters at Paddy’s Raw Bar every year, Mary Claire sang Taylor Swift karaoke at Harry A’s, and all the kids hunted ghost crabs with flashlights in the darkest of nights.

Those little kids are all grown now. The oldest is 27, and the youngest, a senior in high school.

We always had the kids take “jumping shots,” but once when shared with the other moms, they were inadvertently called the “jumping shits.” Thus, all the kids were thereafter known as The Jumping Shits.

St. George Island was our place.

It’s beautiful and special and so very unprotected right now.

Then there’s the sweet town of Apalachicola on the other side of the bridge. Or Apple Coca-Cola as Katy’s youngest daughter, Weezy, used to call it. When we’d all had too much sun about three days into the vacation, we’d drive over for a day in Apalachicola, browsing souvenir shops and eating ice cream. I’d spend way too much time at Downtown Books & Purl. They even stocked copies of Parting Gifts for me.

It’s funny how life works sometimes. I have such wonderful memories from St. George Island, but it’s hard for me to think about going back. That was another time in my life, another existence. But that little place holds so much for me, like a little sandy, sun-soaked time capsule.

And it could all be washed away today if Helene so chooses.

Julie and I are safe in a hotel in The Villages, and chances are, our rig will be fine, too. Sissy and Ruby are drugged and content. We have the TV and a white noise machine on to help dull any hallway sounds. When the storm hits, we’ll turn the soothing and familiar inside sounds up so they are protected from the scary outside sounds. We have snacks and water and food and comfy beds.

I know not everyone is—or will be—so lucky.

What I do know, though, is that even though things change and divorces happen and kids grow up and move away and friends grow distant and gray hair grows in and Mother Nature does whatever she wants, those special memories can never be washed away, not even with ten foot storm surges.

No matter what St. George Island looks like tomorrow, it will always be laughter and sunscreen and pounds of homemade guacamole to me. It will look like margaritas, red wine, books on the beach, and amazing times spent with the most special friends of my child-rearing years.

So much laughter.

Tomorrow, Julie and I will return to our rig and determine if there’s any damage. The pups will be glad to be home, this small hotel adventure behind them, familiarity and comfort ahead.

Sweet Ruby, freshly groomed and drugged and snoozing on her favorite blanket from home.

And the earth will continue spinning and changing and storming and reconciling and holding near and dear the ones it can and letting go of those it can no longer keep.