The Indomitable Human Spirit: Hurricane Ike
Saturday, September 13 at 2:00 a.m., Ike, labeled the “worst hurricane to hit the Texas coast” arrived in Houston. The wind blew; the shingles flew. The night was filled with crash, thump, bada-bing. At sunrise, Houstonians opened doors and windows, walked outside to assess Ike’s damage.
No electricity - 5 hours.
Trees lay prostrate across yards, blocked streets and remodeled homes. Within an hour, people were maneuvering the cluttered streets checking on their neighbor’s condition, asking what was needed and offering assistance. My Mr. Toolman husband, John, was dressed, out the door, armed with his trusty chainsaw. He worked his way down our block, helping neighbors clear branches off sidewalks and pull tree trunks out of windows.
The women began pooling food stuffs, potable water and inventing new cooking methods. Bar-B-Que pits, normally used for leisurely Sunday afternoon entertainment, were enlisted into duty. Battery powered radios were warning that return of power could be four weeks. The mind refuses to wrap itself around such a prospect. Let’s just get through today first.
Didn’t someone say “invention is the child of disaster”. No? OK, maybe that’s not how that axiom goes. But, invention is exactly what was happening. Coffee, one of the staples of life, doesn’t perk without electricity. Several ladies and I pulled a large pot from my kitchen cabinet, filled it with water and made a filter from an old pillow case. The pot was hosted onto the grill to begin the boil. When the water began a slow roll, the coffee brigade lowered the pillow filter into the water. Gradually, the water turned a dark black. Soon the drink of the gods was ready for distribution to the workforce.
No electricity – 8 hours.
Frozen food was beginning to thaw in the humid Houston heat. Neighbors pooled their food resources. Our lunch menu was grilled chicken and Muffin Crunch Bread. The frozen bread loaves in my freezer were rapidly defrosting. The dough was growing like a balloon being filled with helium. The ladies cut the loves into pieces. We rolled small balls between the palms of our hands and placed them into muffin tins. In the warm sun, the dough began to peek over the pan. Using pans and lids, we rigged a Dutch Oven to bake the muffins. The baking bread took on a comical appearance as it collapsed into the round holes. Thirty minutes later, we flipped out bread that had a golden crunch on the outside and a soft middle. Melted butter was brushed on the bread; grilled chicken and onions forked onto paper plates; black beans and foil wrapped potatoes completed the meal. Two doors down, the kids (the college students that rented the triplex) hauled in an ice-chest of beer. Life is good. There we were, seventeen people sitting in our backyard, balancing paper plates on laps, getting acquainted for the first time.
No electricity – 14 hours
Everyone went back to clean-up duty. Plastic lawn bags were packed with leaves, branches and indiscernible gifts left by Ike. Mountains of bags and tree limbs began to rise along the curbs. Everyone was attempting to return to normal.
Dinner comes early when there is no light. Fire in the pits had been stoked all day. A variety of meats were pilled on grills. A true community was forming. For centuries great thinkers have lauded the possibility of working together for the benefit of all. But, the success of the philosophy has yet to be maintained. I watch with amazement as five star meals unfold from primitive equipment. People laugh, questions asked, concern given, offers of assistance made. Night falls. People make their way home for the evening. The night is humid and hot. Sleeping would normally be impossible in this heat, except we are all exhausted.
No electricity – 48 hours
Monday. People are quickly tiring of no phones, no computers, no news, no TV, no Internet. Modern living has vanished.
In hopes of the temperature cooling before going to bed, John and I walked down a deserted thoroughfare. Three blocks away, houses had lights. Could it be that the electricity was returning? Not exactly. Crews were working 24/7 to get power back to areas as quickly as possible. Blocks that suffered less wind damage to power lines and transformers had electricity restored. When I saw the lights, I felt Electricity Envy.
No electricity – 72 hours
Tuesday. The majority of the city is without electricity. Schools and businesses are closed. Supermarkets are closed or have limited products. No bread, no eggs, no milk, no ice, no refrigeration. Wait time to enter Kroger was an hour or more.
With no means to keep perishables cold, what wasn’t eaten was thrown away. Amazingly, spirits were high. After sunset, the community sat outside in the front yards or gathered with new friends to listen to the college kids strum a guitar, sing and dance. As the evening waned, families retired to rest and hope that tomorrow modern life would be restored.
No electricity – 96 hours
Wednesday. Work clothes are running out. I refuse to face another peanut butter sandwich. The community is returning to family units. The fire in the Bar-B-Que pits has gone out. Communal food preparation has disappeared. Refrigerators are empty. More grocery stores are opening. A few restaurants open with limited menus. Conditions are slowly improving, but morale is sinking.
No electricity – 120 hours
Thursday. I’m tired of being hot, dirty, hungry. I detest cold showers.
No electricity – 144 hours
Friday. A week. 7 days since Ike took away modern conveniences. Ike sucks. Lack of information. Before the Houston Chronicle was able to publish, the task of getting information to the public became the responsibility of radio. How often did we want to Google or check the weather or scan our home page. Two cans and a string would out perform a cell phone.
No electricity – 168 hours
Saturday. Brother Dave Garner used to say that every night is a Saturday night and every day is a Sunday. The last 8 days reflect the concept.
No electricity - 192 hours
Sunday.
From across the street someone announced, “we’ve got juice!” Everyone scurried inside, closed their door and life returned to normal.
The neighborhood was getting weird, a division between the have’s and have not’s. Those that were back to “normal” and those who were the unchosen ones. Electricity was finally restored on Tuesday. Twelve days. The most wonderful part of being back to normal was the hot bath and cold milk in the frig. The worst part was that we were all secluded behind our doors once again. The B-B-Q pit now sits quietly in the backyard.
