Go with the blow

As I write this at 11 a.m., Hurricane Matthew, a category 4 storm, is predicted to hit around dinnertime tonight. Forecasters say Matthew will either hit Florida’s east coast directly, somewhere around Palm Beach, or will hover just off it. It will then blow up the coast toward the Carolinas, packing winds in excess of 100 mph and leaving up to eight inches of rain in its wake. Though we live a mere 100 miles away, on Florida’s west coast, forecasters are calling for us to get less than an inch of rain and we have only have a 30 percent chance of experiencing hurricane force winds that last a minute or longer.

All that can change in a heartbeat of course.  

As a peninsula that extends nearly 400 miles into tropical waters, Florida is a sitting duck for storms like Matthew that typically begin off the coast of Africa, slowly churn their way west, picking up in intensity, and occasionally, by the time they arrive in the Caribbean, emerge as full fledged hurricanes rated anywhere from a “1” (sustained winds between 74 and 95 mph) to a “5” (winds in excess of 157 mph that will blow anything in your yard to Japan).

When we bought our first Southwest Florida house in 2005, the realtor proudly told us this part of the state hadn’t been in the path of a hurricane since 1960.  We were in the path of not one but four that year, including Wilma, which caused $100,000 in damage to the house we had just finished renovating. All but $5,000 of that was covered by insurance but it took six months to find workers and materials to make the repairs since there were hundreds of thousands of other homeowners in the same boat. When, at the height of the storm, Wilma blew the vents and the chimney off the roof, palm rats scurried up the side of the house and took up residence in the attic to avoid the wind and rain. By the time they were removed six months later some were the size of small raccoons.

Once the repairs were made, we sold that house and bought another, which we kept for nine hurricane-free years.

Two and a half years ago we bought our current house, which, unlike our previous homes, has storm shutters that cover the windows. Most are operated electrically. Others require a hand crank to lower and secure them. Four consist of huge, heavy pieces of corrugated plexi that screw into tracks above and below the window frames. Installation requires several people and a ladder.

Installing the plexi shutters would be a problem for me at this particular juncture because I broke my ankle last week. When people ask, I tell them I broke it helicopter skiing in the Andes but the truth is I mis-stepped on my own sidewalk. Dumb. As a result I am wearing a heavy boot to keep my ankle in place. I could hobble outside to crank the non-electric shutters but there’s no way I could get up on a ladder to install the plastic ones.

More worrisome, our yard – the main reason we bought this house – is dotted with towering palms, pines and oaks that could come crashing down onto the roof.

So, as many of my fellow Floridians are doing, I’m checking www.nhc.noaa.gov/, the website of the National Hurricane Center, every hour or so, to see if Matthew is still on his predicted track, and am crossing my fingers it won’t be necessary to install the shutters because, of all the times for a hurricane to hit, I’m kinda powerless here to do anything but go with the blow.

I feel for the millions of folks on the other coast and in the center of the state who, forecasters say, may experience the full effects of Matthew’s wrath but that’s a risk we all took when we moved to Florida and, I suppose, the price we pay for living in paradise.