In the Path of the Storm

I am sitting here at 4:25 in the morning awaiting the arrival of Hurricane Ophelia. Currently she is “wobbling” some 100 miles to my south, still at sea.

The areas along the northeastern South Carolina Beaches, including Myrtle Beach, and the areas along the southeastern North Carolina beaches have done everything they are supposed to do. This is not something we are not used to. In fact, over the centuries it has become a way of life. Every few years we find ourselves devastated by the cruelties of one of nature’s most deadly storms. And we survive. We pick up the pieces and we put everything back together again and we get back to what is normal for us.

Here, in NC, our state office of Emergency Preparedness has been opened, manned, and operating, for well over a week. Voluntary evacuations along certain portions of our coastline have been carried out and some mandatory evacuations as well. The same holds true for South Carolina, our sister to the south. Our National Guard units have been placed on alert and our municipal and county, as well as state law enforcement personnel, have been given their orders and they WILL carry them out.

Sometime in the next few hours the screaming winds of Ophelia will arrive. We will hunker down and wait her out. Then… we will begin the clean up. All the while keeping our eyes turned toward the east, and the Atlantic Ocean, the birthplace of these storms for which we have come to have great respect.

My home, a near 100-year-old, hip-roofed structure, with two huge magnolia trees out front, will become the refuge for my small family. Today this old house will be filled with the sounds of screaming children and worried adults keeping a wary eye, and ear, on the Weather Channel, the Internet and police scanners.

This is a very common occurrence for all the residents of the southeastern coast of the US. It comes every year. We know it is coming… and we stayed prepared.

Once, in 1956, we were caught not looking, not prepared, and we were slammed… by Hurricane Hazel. The scenes of devastation looked very similar to those we see today in Mississippi and Louisiana. We vowed it would not happen again. Next time we would be prepared. So far, we have been.

So, as the rain beats upon my windows and pounds the roof of this old storm tossed house I sit and wait. I am many miles, by land, but a few short miles by air, from the ocean, but right in the path of the oncoming storm. I’m just glad that I’m not on the right front quadrant.

Such is life here in “Hurricane Alley” in the summer and fall.

“Longstreet”