Memories of Mom and a Hurricane
Today, Sunday, August 27, 2017, marks the ninth anniversary of my mother’s passing. It is a day that I start dreading long before it arrives. I have blogged numerous times about my lack of love for the month of August. I’m not going to dwell on that again here. I just want to point to the fact that this is the anniversary of the worst day in my life, because it is one reason for the memories that are hitting me today and driving me to write this.
A bigger factor causing this post is Hurricane Harvey. It has been a bit of a distraction for me this week. Unfortunately, while it took my focus off of my mother, it marched through the Texas coast wreaking havoc on Friday, and continues to torment areas of the state today. Houston, as one example, is currently dealing with major flooding and tornadoes. They just got notice from the National Weather Service that they might get 50 inches of rain before Harvey finally acts like a nice bunny rabbit and hops out of sight. In San Antonio, all we have had so far is some winds (no more than 25 mph) and intermittent light rains. More rain may be coming. We may have some flooding. But, we are not expected to be hit anything like our friends to the east.
Today, as a result of Hurricane Harvey and Mama’s anniversary, I keep flashing back to a family vacation in August of 1969, nearly 50 years ago. We didn’t get many vacations when I was growing up- unless you count travel times moving from Air Force base to Air Force base, something that happened pretty often. But, while we were living at Maxwell AFB in Montgomery, Alabama, we had three real vacations in Florida. The first was just the four of us Bakers. The second included Aunt Daisy, Uncle Peach, and their kids. The third one was just the five of us: 4 Bakers and Hurricane Camille.
Our vacation was at a military resort camp in the vicinity of Eglin AFB. It was about a three hour drive from Montgomery. I looked on line today and found a place called Mid Bay Shores in Niceville, Florida. That may be it. I don’t really remember having a name for the place. If Mama were here, she could tell us. It was a nice place that rented trailers on a cliff overlooking the beach. Each of them had a screened porch room and stairs that went down to the water. There were docks on the backside of the park where we fished, crabbed, and watched the alligators. I loved our trips there. My sister, Patti, and I would instantly make “best friends" for the duration and spend all of our time running around doing stuff with them. She and I weren’t very loving siblings back then. We tended to avoid hanging out with each other whenever we could.
On the day before Hurricane Camille hit, camp life went on as usual. The hurricane was predicted to make a right turn toward the Florida Peninsula. We weren’t supposed to get anything more than some winds and heavy rain. They held a meeting in what I remember as a gym-like structure and told everyone not to worry. If conditions changed, they would sound an alarm. When that happened, we were to leave our trailers and take refuge in that building. It was all so mundane that I don’t remember having any fears or worries, even as a child.
I don’t remember a storm actually hitting us. It was mainly just raining. What I do remember is that somewhere in the middle of the night that trailer vibrated, shook, and bucked as if we were on a stage coach going over a rough stretch of rocky road, waking all of us in a panic. The wind howled so loudly that we had to shout to talk to each other. We could hear and feel things slamming up against the trailer. Before long, the power went out. My parents assumed that the hurricane had changed direction and was now attacking us. If the park had sounded an alarm, we did not hear it. We sat together huddled in darkness on the hallway floor of the trailer for what seemed like hours, but was, in reality, only a few minutes.
I remember that my dad made a decision to go ask if we needed to evacuate when most of the banging stopped. He and my mother argued over it. Mama wanted all or none of us to go. He even tried to open the door, only succeeding enough to see that our screened-in porch was torn up, and parts of it were blocking the door, trapping us inside. I’m sure that must have really shaken my parents up, but they did a great job of faking calm. Patti and I had been terrified during the storm, but had no sense of “danger" because our parents hid it from us.
Somehow, I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, there was an eery silence. There was still no power in the trailer, and Mama was actively packing up our stuff. I remember that she was crying the whole time, but when I asked her what was wrong, she just said, “Nothing, honey. Everything’s okay now." She seemed angry about something, but I wasn’t sure what.
While I was still sleeping, men from the camp had come to clear away the debris from our door. Daddy had joined them after that going around and helping with the most immediate clean up needs. Mama wouldn’t let Patti or me go outside until he came back. When we did go out, we were amazed by what we saw. Our stairs to the beach were gone! The trailer to the left of us looked as if someone had picked it up and slammed it back down on it’s side. The trailer to the right of us was nowhere to be seen! Tornadoes had hit the park during the night! Fortunately, most of the other families had taken refuge in the shelter without waiting for an alarm to be sounded. Evidently, my parents had discussed that, and Daddy had made the decision not to. I now knew the reason for Mama’s anger. When the tornadoes hit, it was too late for an alarm. Amazingly, everyone in the park survived uninjured.
We spent the rest of the day exploring the damages with our friends while our parents talked and planned their courses of action. The managers of the park suggested that everybody stay the night, because the roads might be messed up. My family did. I remember trying to sleep in that trailer. It was hot and humid. Very little breeze came in the window. The electricity was out, so we obviously didn’t have the AC or fans going! We were lucky that our water and toilets were working, although Mama wouldn’t let us drink the water. We actually got to drink whole canned soda pops! The usual rule for our family was half a can each for Patti and me per day.
The afternoon after the storm hit, Daddy and I went wading along the beach. We both got stung by a stingray, at least we thought it was the same one. Daddy stayed in the water, but I was in so much pain that I took off running on the beach to get to my mommy! When I got to the trailer, I couldn’t stop pacing around in agony. When Daddy came back, we got changed, and he drove us to the emergency room at Eglin AFB. The doctor poured ammonia on the stings, and the pain stopped almost instantly. It was amazing. The whole way back to camp, Daddy was yelling at me for being such a crybaby. (Daddy never ran out of reasons to yell at me back then.) His stingray sting didn’t hurt him as much. Unfortunately for him, however, it did end up causing more problems for him than mine did. He even had to have surgery a few months later because of it. I don’t remember what the problem was. If Mama were here, she could tell us.
The next day, we loaded up the car and headed back to Montgomery. I remember that it was raining the whole time. I also remember seeing some damage along the way from the tornadoes, but not a lot. Hurricane Camille made her direct hit in Waveland, Mississippi, nearly 200 miles to the west of the campground. Had we not had tornadoes, that night would have been just like any other night at camp, and we would have stayed for another three days.