What It’s Really Like Living through a Natural Disaster – How to Mentally and Physically Prep for a Hurricane

2020 hasn’t exactly been a one size fits all apocalypse like movies like the Purge or Alien Invasion would have you believe, but rather a slow burn with various natural disasters and dumpster fires depending on what region of the country you call home. Our Russian roulette wheel landed on hurricanes, which I guess is better than murder hornets if you’re keeping score.

Apocalypse or otherwise, hurricane prep was never something I thought I’d have to deal with before living in Texas, which I now lovingly refer to as the Australia of America as each passing day brings new and fun threats. To be clear, hurricanes in the Gulf are nothing new, but they are certainly new to me as a Yankee transplant. The Gulf States are basically playing eeny meeny miny mo ping-ponging between who’s turn it is next and breathing a sigh of relief when the spinner wheel doesn’t land on you.

How Common Are Hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico?

Every year, June through November, about ten tropical storms develop in the Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean Sea, and the Atlantic Ocean. About half those gain enough strength to turn into hurricanes. Those can either fizzle out at sea, strike an island and dissipate, or make landfall on the continental US coast somewhere between Florida and Texas. Longtime residents expect 1-2 major storms a year and one really bad one just about every three years.

When I moved, I was mentally preparing for five months straight of torrential downpours, but that’s really not the case. Most days are hot, humid, and sticky right up until the storm itself, the worst threat being the mosquitos. For the most part, it’s the kind of weather you’d expect from the coastal tropics.

What’s the Difference Between a Tropical Storm and a Hurricane?

Storms have a number of different classifications based on wind speed. They start as tropical depressions, which have max wind speeds of 38 mph, turning into tropical storms when they reach 39-73 mph winds. Anything above 74 mph winds is upgraded to a hurricane, with major hurricanes – the sexy category 3s, 4s, and 5s you hear the most about, topping wind speeds of 111 mph.

People get too fixated on the ratings, though, as any storm can cause significant damage based on how long it sits in your area and what it hits. Katrina was devastating not because of the rain totals, but because it broke the levee floodwalls, dumping billions of gallons of water over New Orleans. In 2019, Tropical Storm Imelda did some of the most prolonged damage to my city, Beaumont, with 38 inches of rain across multiple days, which barely garnered any media coverage. Tropical storms can also be potentially more devastating than hurricanes if they’re not declared national disasters, which is necessary to qualify for FEMA funding to be able to rebuild.

The biggest shock to me as a Northerner was the rating system. The numbers 1-5 do not even come close to reflecting how intense and catastrophic the damage can be. 175 mph winds with storm surges up to 15 feet is what was predicted for Laura. I was naively was trying to stack boxes on top of furniture a few inches off the ground…. 15 feet would have meant the whole city was underwater up to your roof. There’s really no way to prep for a scenario like that or even mentally fathom that amount of devastation.

Back to My Story: Hurricane Laura

As they say, you always remember your first. And because 2020 is literally the apocalypse, I got a two-fer for my first go with Marco and Laura. They were expected to hit the same area a few days apart, Marco being the right hook, Laura the left jab. Thankfully, Marco ended up being largely overrated and dissipated before making landfall. Laura, on the other hand, was an even bigger Karen than expected, growing from a category one to a category four virtually overnight. And thus, began the first preplanned mandatory evacuation in Beaumont in over a decade and our first panicked escape.

A Hurricane Timeline

Meteorologists don’t get a clear picture of a hurricane’s possible intensity and where it will make landfall until about 72 hours beforehand, so until then, it’s just whispers and what-ifs from the Weather Channel, and we all know how accurate that is. Most natives and people who have been doing this their whole life will write it off as “just another storm that’ll probably get blown out of proportion” before it even starts.

With only three days of warning, you’re not left with much time to prep, yet feels like an infinite amount of time to worry, which is why you must rely on your own instincts and formulate your own set of guidelines for when to act. Terminology like “cone of uncertainty” certainly doesn’t help calm the nerves. It’s hard to trust storm trackers and graphics, as even the slightest change in course can have monumental impacts on one city vs. another. You breathe a small sigh of relief when it shifts toward your neighbor until you’re back in the hot seat sweating.

Sidenote: the most legit source of information is Hurricanes.gov, the National Hurricane Center, which only issues official updates every three to six hours.

For our timeline, we heard there was a possible storm brewing Friday, which was upgraded to a hurricane on Sunday. On Monday, we found out both of our offices would be closed until further notice, so thankfully, they were taking the threat seriously. We made the decision to leave late Tuesday night prior to the mandatory evacuation being issued Wednesday morning as the storm was predicted to hit Wednesday night around midnight.

As a Grade A control freak, the waiting and not knowing was the worst part. Left to my own devices, I was obsessively checking every weather app I could find for any hint as to what was to come. The “calm before the storm” is an eerily accurate description because the days before were beautiful, some of the nicest of summer, which makes it all the easier to fall into the trap of “it’s no big deal.”

Whether you choose to stay or choose to go, prepping an emergency kit in blue skies feels like you’re overreacting until you see everyone else panic buying and stripping the shelves with the most Texas rules ever –two briskets per person and four cases of water. Why brisket, you ask? Because without power, BBQing in the streets and hurricane parties are a real thing.

Should You Evacuate for a Hurricane? When?

There are basically four types of people. Those who take no chances and leave at the first sign of trouble, those who leave during the voluntary evacuation, those who begrudgingly wait for the mandatory evacuation, and those who say f it and stay. Technically there’s no penalty for ignoring a mandatory evacuation, and they can’t force you to leave, but there will be a curfew and no 911 services – you have to understand that you’re entirely on your own.

Surprisingly, the majority of the population stays, which was unfathomable to me, but I also don’t understand a lot of the mentality down here. It’s one thing if you have nowhere to go; it’s quite another if you want to protect your belongings at all costs. There are also some “essential” jobs like first responders and city officials that are required to stay. But it’s all very macabre when they tell you to do things like write your social security number on your arm…because, you know.

What it comes down to though is a personal decision and everyone’s situation is different. No matter what the level or designation – category 1, 3, tropical storm, each has its own risk. I’ve heard it said for wind events, you should shelter in place, whereas if there’s flooding and water predicted, leave. But both can cause extreme damage, and everyone has different levels of tolerance. You also really have to make your decision ahead of the mandatory evacuation, or you’ll be sitting in bumper to bumper gridlock traffic for hours trying to get out. A trip that should take two hours can easily take 8-10. If you do choose to leave, you really have to time it perfectly (usually the middle of the night) so you’re not fleeing with everyone else.

Personally, I’d rather shelter in place with flashlights and a good book rather than worrying about how and where to pee and running out of gas on the highway, but if I had kids, it might be a different story. If you’re new in town and have no ties to the area and nowhere to go, it’d also be a different situation than if all your family was here — you might be more inclined to hunker down together than GFTO. But, if you do leave, you can’t come back until it’s deemed safe, which could be quite a while so you really have no way of knowing the extent of the damage to your property.

For us, that meant waiting to see what our work said. If there isn’t a mandatory evacuation issued, you’re on your own in terms of using PTO to cover however long you’re gone, essentially burning through vacation days. Thankfully, as soon as we found out we were on paid leave, it made the decision easy. Dan’s mom is in Austin, just 3.5 hours away so we wouldn’t have to worry about finding a hotel, which costs on average $100/night and not everyone can afford. Basically, anytime you have to evacuate, between the accommodations, food, and the like, it adds up if you don’t have somewhere to go.

Side note: hotels are much more lenient with their pet policy during evacuations, which is a big concern for many, where to bring their fur babies. You should still call ahead just to double check before you book.

An Emotional Rollercoaster

As the days progressed, the town sentiment alternated between “don’t worry the media’s overreacting” to “OMG it’s going to be horrible, we’re in god’s hands now.”

For me, the scariest part was being in a new place (not knowing the typical procedures and protocols) and not knowing what our new house could withstand. It was a mystery how to shut off the water and gas and which power lines were at risk. We vehemently surveyed the property, formulating every possible scenario. Those big beautiful live oaks we love? They’re now a liability. Are those nice neighbors we just met going to sue us if our tree falls on their car?

Basically, I was told that if any storm comes through, prepare to have no power or electricity for at least 5-7 days and a minimum of two weeks if its an actual hurricane. The roads in and out are blocked off and residential homes are the lowest priority after hospitals, emergency facilities, and businesses to get back up and running. You have to plan what you’re going to eat sans refrigeration and without electricity for the oven, how you’re going to stay cool without A/C (mind you, it’s still the dead of summer with average temperatures of 95+ degrees), and how you’re going to entertain yourself after all the devices die.

How to Prep Your Home for a Hurricane:

• Create an emergency kit at the beginning of hurricane season and have it ready to go (see my reccs below). Check it and update it every year to make sure no food is expired.
• Locate all your important documents (passport, social security card, car title, etc.) and put them in a waterproof container to bring with you.
• Fill up your gas tank and get your car inspected beforehand (gas stations do close and/or run out of gas).
• Take pictures and videos of everything inside and outside your home for potential insurance claims. If a tree falls, it might be cleaned up by the time an adjuster can even get to you to assess damages so you better have proof to show them.
• Elevate everything off the ground as much as possible – hang shelves, put anything you care about in the attic.
• Trim bushes and branches as much as possible.
• Move patio furniture, decorations, and anything not tied down inside.
• Charge all your devices.
• Change all the batteries in said devices.
• Fill up the bathtub — you can use the water to flush toilets, bathe, or do dishes if need be.
• Board up any windows facing the water with plywood.

What to Have in Your Hurricane Emergency Kit:

Prepping for a disaster feels oddly like packing for a long backpacking or camping trip minus being able to cook over a fire, so leave the ramen/dehydrated meals at home. Put everything in a locking waterproof bin and keep it in storage – especially your important government-issued docs.

• Bottled water – at least three cases
• A Cooler
• Ice or Reusable Ice Packs
• A First Aid Kit
• Flashlights (in Every Possible Room) and Headlamps
• A Battery Operated Radio
• Backup Batteries in all major kinds for Flashlights and Headlamps — AA, AAA, D
• Non-Perishable Protein-Heavy Foods: tuna, bread, granola bars, trail mix, peanut butter, beef jerky
• Plenty of Snacks – chips, chocolate, and cookies to eat your feelings
• Optional: A Generator and Gas to run it. If you’re planning on staying, can find one (they often sell out), and can afford it (they range from $200-1200), here’s a handy guide for how much power and wattage you’ll need to run which appliances.

The Exhausting Aftermath

The 48 hours before the hurricane is scheduled to make landfall, there’s a growing pit in your stomach because you know something’s about to happen, but time moves so slowly. You just want to get it over with and get on with the aftermath. It’s one of those train-wreck scenarios where you can’t stop googling all kinds of things like what is a spaghetti model and how do you qualify for FEMA assistance, tracking the graphics in fascination, getting sicker and sicker with each hour of impending doom.

I’m by no means a religious person, but if there were ever a time to throw a few prayers up, this is it, especially to our friend St. Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes. I just kept thinking over and over how the people that stayed were literally playing with fire (water?) and Russian roulette with their lives because they’ve gotten so used to this year after year and how deep-rooted the “come and take it” mentality is. By far, I was more worried about them than I ever was for any of my “stuff.” But I can see why disaster porn is so popular.

My headache grew as the headlines changed to “unsurvivable conditions” and “your lives are in grave danger if you do not leave.” I’m pretty sure I’m going to have PTSD, especially after reading stories from the anniversaries of Harvey and Katrina, which happened just days apart years prior. Even though we hadn’t been in Texas long (a little over a month), people I’d met once were already texting me to check-in, an indication of just how tight knit this community is. I can’t imagine anything happening to any of them and hope it wasn’t texting to say goodbye.

Laura was supposed to make landfall around midnight, which complicated things even further as it would be hard to tell the extent of the catastrophe in the dark, and we’d have to wait until morning to assess the damage. I was up all night frantically switching between local and national news looking for any signs of venues I recognized, while live-tweeting the updates as the town’s main PR contact.

To say it was a balancing act between sounding calm, cool, and collected for everyone else’s sake while internally hyperventilating would be the understatement of the year. Finally, around 3 am, Laura took a last-minute turn, barely clipping us, and completely demolishing our sister city across the border. These hurricanes honestly feel like a coin flip, and we got lucky this time. And just like that, it was over. I watched in disbelief, wondering how we were supposed to go home and act as if nothing had happened.

Despite our town not being in the hurricane’s main path, predictably, it still took five days to regain power, so we enjoyed the rest of our Austin eva-cation breathing and eating a little better, still anxious about what we might return to. Upon returning home, we surveyed the city, and aside from a few trees and power lines down, we were left largely unscathed.

We regrouped at the office, making sure everyone was okay, and got to work planning relief efforts for our friends in Lake Charles. Man, was that a tough sight to see because it so easily could’ve been us.

The toughest part for me was how desensitized the locals were and that they got even more brazen about staying. They now say they “survived a category four storm” (no, you didn’t, you got lucky) and are even more confident in their decision not to leave. That mentality is something I’ll never understand about this area; I just hope I don’t live to see them pay the price for it.

We had plenty of warning for Laura, but Tropical Storm Beta, and now Gamma is right around the corner. And with even less confidence in its path or strength, no one is acting like it’s a big deal at all. I hope they’re right because here we go again.

What Surprised Me About the Entire Experience:

• What people stockpile. The grocery store and Lowe’s were madhouses, yet Target was completely empty. And the things they were buying were weird – brisket in the street, really?

• Hurricane parties are a real thing. You go to the friend’s house with the strongest generator and get blitzed because what else are you going to do without power?

• The storm damage is always worse on the east side aka the “dirty side” of where it hits – the west is left largely unscathed.

• The preceding week’s weather report didn’t have ominous and grey skies, and there was barely any rain in the forecast. The water dumps in such a short period of time it’s barely a blip on the register.

• The aftermath truly brings out the best and worst in society. There’s a huge spike in scams and burglaries, but also tugs at the heartstrings with so many looking to help and donate to those affected.

• How quickly the rest of the country forgets that something even happened.