Hurricane Milton was gonna be the big one, and while we weren’t in the crosshairs for this one like we were for Hurricane Helene a few weeks ago, we were still will within its field of fire. They were predicting Category 4 and possibly Category 5. I’m told FEMA- approved “hurricane-resistant homes” are spec’d to withstand 145 mph winds, and this one was predicted for over 200 mph. Everyone was saying, “Evacuate!” Mayors in the big cities in the target zone were telling their constituents things like “Evacuate or die!” and “If you stay in your home, it will become your coffin!”
There had been a request from a defense lawyer in the Carolinas to come up and review a shooting scene and debrief the defendant, and we were also overdue to visit my older daughter and some of my grandsons in the DelMarVa area. The confluence of circumstances seemed clear. We loaded the dog and emergency provisions (didn’t know if we could find hotels with all the evacuees) into one of the vans and headed north like orphans of the storm.
At the proverbial last minute, Milton shifted from its Northeast trajectory coming right at us, to straight east. It missed our county for the most part, one of countless hurricane bullets we’ve been able to dodge thanks to the vicissitudes of the weather. Our home didn’t even lose power.
Our hearts go out to those who were hit. Many died. Many more lost their homes and their loved ones.
We were lucky. We got a reunion with loved ones and even got some work done in the course of that week in weather-provoked exile.
We saw the worst in people – reports of looting – but we saw far more of the best of people: neighbors helping neighbors, and volunteers from far away coming to help the stricken. Bless them. (And thanks to all the friends and readers who checked on us to see if we were OK.) I don’t do schmaltz here, but I’ll make an exception. This story touched my heart, and our rescue dog Alba who was along for the trip approves.