Aftermath: Written by Gerry Leblond 11/01/2024
A true account of my trip to Florida to help clean up after Hurricane Michael
It's midnight. High above me, thousands of stars twinkle in the night sky. Waves crashing on the beach break the silence within the darkness. To my right, a trailing reflection of the full moon glistens on the ocean's surface. Two ships in the distance slowly move left across the water. Behind them, flashes of light illuminate a cloud hovering on the horizon. Visions of earlier in the day enter my mind.
I'm driving south on I75 from Georgia to assist in the cleanup after Hurricane Michael. The further I drive, the more devastation I see. Billboards are nothing but debris. Houses have tarps covering their roofs from the storm's wrath. Trees are uprooted, and power lines are flattened by the high winds.
Linemen are vigorously working to restore power to the millions of Florida residents without it. The loss is heartbreaking, but communities come together even in the aftermath of the violent storm.
On the outskirts of Tallahassee, I see tents lining mall parking lots. More are on church grounds and even the area homeowners open their homes to evacuees. People are cooking on grills for their neighbors, others are handing out water, and many more are giving comforting hugs.
As I near my island destination, I must detour because the coastline road is impassable.
Thoughts of the trip vanish, as the flashes of light behind the ships disappear. My head slowly lowers to the table and I fall asleep. After a few hours I wake, stroll down to the bedroom, and finish the night in the comfort of a bed. Fortunately, the island sustained minimal damage, compared to other parts of Florida.
The next day, water was restored and we began cleaning the sand that had accumulated under the house. After several days of minor repairs, the power was restored. The cleanup was complete, and we drove back to Georgia.
In the aftermath of a powerful storm such as Michael, it could take years to recover.
The Fire: Written by Gerry Leblond 11/20/2024
This story is a true account of a fire our family had when I was a child.
It was the winter of 1969. I was eight years old at the time and usually didn't arrive home until around 4:00 P.M... The mile-long walk up the driveway to our farmhouse was tiring enough, but to add chores to the day was exhausting, especially for a young boy.
As I remember, the school closed early that day, but I dreaded going home because I knew extra chores would await me. A strange sense of uncertainty ran through me as I walked. As I crested the hill and passed the big silver barn, I heard the stirring of the horses in their stalls. Usually, they were quiet. But for some unknown reason, they seemed frantic. I could also hear the cackle of the thousands of chickens inside the barn.
When I finally arrived home, I walked into the house. My mother was sitting at the table with a hot cup of coffee in hand.
"Go change your clothes," she said with a smile, "I'll help you with your chores today."
"Alright!" I shouted with excitement and raced into my room. The school books I carried landed on the bed with a bounce. I quickly changed into my usual clothes for chores. Faded jeans and an old T-shirt made up my attire. When I finished dressing, I went back into the kitchen and my mother was still at the table with the cup to her lips, she winked and set the coffee cup on the table.
"Are you ready?" Mom asked.
"Yup," I answered.
Suddenly, the phone rang. It must have startled Mom because she jumped out of her seat and almost spilled the coffee as her hand glanced at the side of the cup.
"Go start the chores and I'll be right out," she stated.
"Ok," I replied.
During the winter, deep snow covered the ground between the two structures. A two-hundred-foot underground passageway led from the basement of the farmhouse to the barn. Lights hung along the ceiling, but cobwebs dangled everywhere in the eerie, damp, and dingy tunnel.
I began to walk down the hall toward the basement door that led to the tunnel; I could hear Mom speak.
"Hello," she said as she placed the receiver to her ear. "What do you want?" She asked. "No, you called me," Mom stated sternly.
As I touched the doorknob, a loud voice sounded. "Don't go in the barn," rang in my ear. I turned and walked back into the kitchen where Mom was still on the phone.
"I thought you were going to start the chores?" She asked.
"You said don't go in the barn," I answered.
"No, I didn't, I'm talking to your grandmother," Mom replied, "Now go start, and I'll be right out."
I turned and walked back down the hall, while my Mom and Grandma argued about who called who. When I reached the basement door, again the voice sounded when the knob was touched. "Don't go in the barn!" It said, a little louder than before.
"Did you say something to me, Mom?" I asked.
"No!" She answered harshly.
Again I touched the knob, and once more the voice sounded, even louder and more forceful than the last. "Mom quit telling me not to go in the barn," I shouted.
"I didn't say that!" Mom snapped. "Go start the chores now!" she said sharply.
This time I pulled the door open wide, the voice thundered in my head.
"Oh my God!" Mom screamed.
She slammed the phone down, raced to where I stood, grabbed me, and pulled me back into the hallway. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"We have to leave!" Mom said with fear in her voice.
"Why?" I asked.
"Don't ask questions we have to go now!" She shouted.
With me wrapped tightly in her arms, Mom raced out the door and ran toward the neighbor's house. As we passed the barn, smoke billowed from the vents. Within minutes, fire engulfed the entire barn. It spread so quickly; that nothing could be done to save it. Mom wept as tears streaked down her cheeks. The neighbor stood with us in the driveway and explained that she had already called the fire department and also contacted my Dad, who was at work only a few miles away.
In the distance, sirens blared as the fire engines sped up the long drive. Lights flashed, as they crested the hill. Dad was directly behind them. He stopped in the neighbor's driveway, bolted from his truck, and we embraced with watery eyes.
The fire was so intense that the firemen could not save the barn. So they concentrated on the farmhouse. After the flames had subsided, and the smoke cleared, a massive pile of ashes was all that remained where the barn once stood.