Fire and Brimstone

The acrid smell stung my nostrils when I stepped on the front porch. Looking around the yard, everything seemed to be in order. There has been no rain for several weeks and this is the time of year that fires spring from nowhere, it seems. When the grass turns amber from the lack of rain, the quiet disappears. Wind brings a rustling sound like a clattering chorus of reeds. We know the fires can begin without warning.

Who would believe that Florida could be so parched and dry? This state that brags about being a tropical paradise with promotional material on flowers and abundant growing things is on fire. The weeks before hurricane season are generally less humid and without the daily rains. Without soil to retain the moisture from rain, our state gradually turns a dingy yellow-brown. Grass actually crunches when walking and small ground cover shrinks to only a remembrance. This is when the fires begin. Without warning it seems. Perhaps a spark from out of nowhere starts a small fire that rapidly spreads through the dead brush. The acrid air spreads a warning to nearby towns as a pillar of black smoke rises.

We await the beginning of hurricane season with a sense of foreboding. We are at war with nature and she will likely win again. With sophisticated scientific weather forecasting data, warnings of potential disaster comes days before the blast. Stocking up on batteries, water and canned food becomes a ritual repeated without emotion. The fear of losing possessions is faced each year. Checking insurance papers, passports and other bare essential documents is a seasonal activity.

That ugly red circulating storm signal makes my pulse quicken. Television stations spread the news that a Category 4 storm is likely to make landfall in the early morning hours. Gas stations quickly fill with a line of cars and tempers rise with each hour. Grocery check-out lines grow with customers purchasing water, canned food, batteries. Some look amused at the excitement of preparing for the war with nature. They must be the newcomers who haven’t experienced the fury of a wind that destroys. Other faces relate a dread for a potential enemy that can not be stopped.

It was one early morning when the winds began to howl, sounding like a wounded animal. Rain pelted the bathroom window and the trees started to sway. We watched the local television news reporter describing the undulating seas and pounding surf. It was time to move to the center hallway and ride out the storm. Throwing on a pair of jeans and shirt, we grabbed pillows, flashlights and a battery radio to keep us company through this vigil. A sharp snap of a tree limb made us quicken. The roar of the winds and pulsating rains grew louder. We watched as the storm shutters vibrated with the blowing energy. Just when it seemed the house would surrender to nature’s fury, a sudden calm changed the mood. Winds quieted down and a steady rain soothed its way into our present consciousness. Looking outside, the sky was clear. Tree limbs were scattered around the yard. The street was dark and ghost-like.

Whistling winds again warned us to return to shelter. The calm was now only a memory as nature returned with another blow. This attack seemed to bring more fury and destruction. A clattering noise as roof shingles are peeled off like scaling a fish. A loud crack like the sound of a bat hitting a homerun is a tree limb surrendering to the wind. Popping noises like giant popcorn kettles could be hail stones hitting the pavement or the firing of transformers as electrical connections fail. The “back side” of the storm is said to be more dangerous. Certainly this one is no exception. We await the end of the turmoil with our eyes glued to the battery operated television. Listening to reporters describing the track of the storm brings hope that the end is near. When it seems as though we can endure no more, the wind subsides. Another hurricane has come and gone.