By Michael French

Speeding across Alligator Alley from Naples to Palm Beach with my mother, aunt, and three dogs crammed into the car, the Everglades was a fuzzy, green and blue blur. I was extremely concerned with the looming “beast” I saw in the rear view mirror. “She” was like a predator in hot pursuit, literally nipping at our heels, or wheels, in this case. Twenty four hours later I would find out first hand my worry was more than warranted.

“She” was WILMA, not as in Flintstone, but as in Hurricane Wilma!
Wilma was forecast to slam the Naples, Ft Myers area. It would just bring a good rain to Florida’s east coast megalopolis. I lived in Naples at the time. Trying to be proactive, the plan was to escape her wrath “roughing it” in Palm Beach at a family member’s home, all snug and secure, sipping champagne while Wilma was wreaking havoc in Naples. I had made sure I did everything possible to prevent any hurricane damage to my home in Naples. We had our plans. Life, as it often does, had plans for us.

The cliche, “To change her mind, is a woman’s prerogative” might be sexist, but Wilma did exactly that! With little warning, she changed her projected course. Vacuumed and funneled in by the unusually warm, shallow waters of the Everglades, steroids for a monster storm, she barreled due east from Naples, morphing into a category three hurricane, winds approaching 120 miles per hour, zeroing  in on Florida’s Gold Coast, home to seven million people.
We didn’t have time in Palm Beach to do all the things I had done at home in Naples to ready their home and the family for Wilma’s thrashing. As she bore down on South Florida, her winds roared like a freight train, rattling ten foot sliding glass doors, prompting all twelve of us to huddle in the master bathroom, the safest place to be during a hurricane. Just after the eye, with its eerie, ominous, deceiving calm passed, Wilma’s howling winds returned. Peering through the cracks of the shutters, I saw only a swirling soup of branches, chairs, debris and shingles. The doors were blocked by fallen trees.

When I crawled out a window, the damage to the home and neighborhood resembled Hiroshima. Wilma caused billions of dollars in property damage, left thousands without power for up to three weeks and closed thousands of businesses. She clobbered South Florida with a vengeance less than 5 weeks before the end of a chaotic hurricane season. Most people, including myself and my family, were caught off guard.

Hurricane season begins June 1st and ends December 1st. Be prepared! Have an escape route planned. Keep the car’s gas tank full during the entire season. Have all your plans and materials in place at the beginning of the season. DO NOT wait until the last minute. Every municipality has evacuation procedures. If told to evacuate, do it! Local governments offer tried and true lists of the “Do’s and Don’ts” for hurricane season. Among them: Have a week’s supply of water, canned food, propane,charcoal and other non perishable staples. Freeze as much as  possible, including containers of water. Keep the fridge full. Full freezers and refrigerators stay cold longer. Have plenty of batteries for flashlights, etc. Fill the tub with water. Buy tablets to sterilize water. Make sure your insurances are up to date. Once a storm is named insurance companies will not issue or augment policies. Put patio furniture, etc in the garage or in the pool. If you don’t have hurricane shutters, board up windows and doors with plywood.

Hurricanes can have a fury more ferocious and vicious than a million enraged drag queens! There is almost always plenty of warning before a hurricane strikes. Why wait until it’s pounding at the door? Even when there isn’t much warning, as was the case with Wilma, when there’s sensible planning, personal responsibility, common sense and good listening skills, no one ever has be a hurricane victim. It’s never too early to be prepared.

Michael French, is Agenda’s Home from Home columnist. Contact Michael at mf7954fla@gmail.com