Lessons From the Marjories: Watching Hurricane Season from the Front Porch
Photos from State Archives of Florida and Leslie K. Poole
Editor’s Note from The Marjorie: Florida has a long history of havoc-wreaking storms. However, most longtime Florida residents don’t start panicking until late August and September when the worst storms are most likely to hit. As changing climate conditions cause hurricanes to get larger and move more slowly, author Leslie K. Poole examines the relationships between Floridians and these massive storms.
This essay is part of the The Marjorie’s contributor series Lessons from the Marjories, where Florida women explore connections between the three Marjories and their own lives. This work is licensed under CC BY–NC–ND with minor edits for style. – Editor
There is a game I play with friends in which I challenge them to name the “seasons” in Florida without using official calendar designations. It is always good fun. There’s Love Bug Season in May and September when cars may be blackened by amorous insects. Leaf Fall in February when the oaks seemingly drop their leaves overnight to make way for new growth. Everyone is familiar with Snowbird Season when roads and beaches are jammed with people fleeing cold climes, many proudly displaying what must be agonizing sunburns. Orange Blossom Season brings wafts of almost overpowering sweetness…and another irritant during the year-round Allergy Season.
And then there’s Hurricane Season
Officially lasting from June 1 to November 30, Hurricane Season is the time of year when television announcers repeatedly advise everyone to buy bottled water, canned food, and batteries, leaving me suspiciously wondering if they have grocery store stockholdings. The nightly weather reporter eagerly sizes up storms crossing the Atlantic Ocean and the likelihood of them forming into something dangerous. I attentively watch as they depict swirling systems coded by number for wind strength.
The state has a long history of havoc-wreaking storms. The 1928 storm killed more than two thousand people when it caused Lake Okeechobee to overflow. Zora Neale Hurston writes of this tragedy in Their Eyes Were Watching God. Then there was the 1935 Labor Day storm that killed highway workers in the Keys. And more recently, Hurricane Andrew tore through Homestead in 1992. However, most longtime Florida residents don’t start panicking until late August and September when the worst storms are most likely to hit. Changing climate conditions are making me more wary every year as hurricanes get larger and move more slowly, increasing their capacity for damage.
Today we are blessed to have electronic gadgetry that charts potential storms long before they reach our coasts. State residents have plenty of time to stock up, buy ice, and get the heck out of a storm’s path. But just imagine how old backwoods pioneers dealt with the storms that thundered ashore seemingly – and literally – out of the blue. And since I’m a fourth-generation Floridian, I’m talking about my people.
Two of Florida’s most beloved authors – Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings and Patrick D. Smith – penned memorable descriptions of hurricanes, offering glimpses into what these rural folks endured.
Rawlings, writing from her home in the north-central Florida village of Cross Creek, described hurricanes in three of my favorite pieces. The short story “Jacob’s Ladder” begins and ends with such storms, framing the hardships endured by Florry and Mart. “The yellow-grayness of the sky was tinged with green in the west,” Rawlings wrote. “The roar of the wind was a train thundering nearer and nearer.”
