Hurricane Ike

Music: Deodato - Whirlwinds 2 - appropriate

It is the Noise that I remember most. I'll remember it for the rest of my life. We sheltered a few miles north and east in our daughter's house (remember, misery loves company) because we were ordered to evacuate our house. The joke was on us, however, as Ike took a turn to the east and passed right over our refuge. Power went out at 1:05 a.m., and the hurricane had not even made landfall in Galveston, 40 miles south of us.
I've lived on four continents. I've been through wind storms, rain storms, lightening storms, thunderstorms, tropical storms, monsoons (I hate monsoons), ice storms, sleet, freezing rain, tornadoes, the deadly mid-west heat wave of 1980, hail, blizzards, typhoons, cyclones, and smaller hurricanes. I'm no coward, but I have a very healthy respect for any weather phenomenon. You just can't avoid it. You can't stop it. You can't alter it. You can't predict it. You had better not ignore it. It will come when it decides to, will take whatever path it chooses, linger if it wants to, and leave only when it is ready. It doesn't care, doesn't know, doesn't feel, doesn't think. It IS and it must be endured.

After the power went out we all went to bed and tried to sleep. Without power, a house is in itself silent, which makes wind gusts of 135 miles per hour almost mind-numbing. And the raindrops sounded like bullets when they hit the window. I still cannot understand how all the windows in this two-story house remained unbroken under the dual assault.

But it was the Noise that kept me awake. Wide awake. In all my life, in all the places weather had pummeled me or assaulted me, I had never heard this Noise before. Even the cyclone we lived through in Korea was not like this. I can tell you that the Noise was what terrified me more than anything. I'm not sure if I can find the words to describe it. I do know what it was NOT.

It was not the wind - that whistling noise of trees whipping back and forth, slapping their own leaves off. It was not rain, or thunder, or the heart-stopping crack of the lightening close by. It didn't sound like a train, or a jet plane. It was not a growl or a howl or a roar or a scream.

It was always there. It was high above us and all around us at the same time. It was in the background, but absolutely dominated the entire sky. The wind ebbed and sometimes nearly went silent, but that Noise was always there. The rain lashed and crashed and clattered, but that Noise was always there. Even when the huge eye of that hurricane passed over us and the wind was totally calm and the rain stopped completely, that Noise was still there, above us, around us.

It was a threat and a promise and a warning and a very overpowering entity. It was there for nearly seven hours and I hope I never hear it again.

If a weather event can be horrifying and awesome at the same time, Hurricane Ike qualifies.

Postscript:
We managed to feed four adults and two children for four days without any power at all. But we ran out of food and evacuated to Austin, Texas, we were sure there was power again. There is damage absolutely everywhere. Every house, every street, every neighborhood, every section, every block - nothing is completely intact. The damage is largely not catastrophic. But the area of damage is massive. Massive. The area of damage is the size of the state of New Jersey.

And almost seven months later, some houses are still boarded up.