There was resignation but no panic here at Refuge Farm. The news of Hurricane-Tropical Storm-Hurricane Ian’s advance had been pervasive over the last week as The Big Story. Images of shattered homes and expensive boats stacked willy-nilly on the Florida shores was a sobering indication of what had swept across the Sunshine State and was headed our way. The impact of a significant force of nature was opportunistically blended into the information warfare battle about the elections in just over a month, and more particularly, the Florida Governor’s chances in the 2024 Presidential contest. But that is years away and the fury of Nature here and now.

As former info warriors, we were drawn to observation of the narrative and the way it was played. It added a particular note to our apprehension. Plus, the idea of what was coming our way, highlighted by damp commentators on flooded boulevards, seemed inexorable and vast.

The contrast between the media coverage and the actual coverage of the storm was dramatic. The first raindrops arrived with mild impact around 2:20 PM. No noticeable wind gusts, which was a change from the wrath that scrubbed both coasts of the Sunshine State. Ian had lost some of his “oomph” passing over Gator Alley, but strengthened again as it returned to the sea.

What was in it for us? The local forecasters said “heavy showers” overnight, and the Commonwealth first responders were staged in preparation. The sun’s decline on the horizon was muffled by rich gray skies, and light faded early as the rains came in accordance with the Lady in Red’s prognostication. The steel roof on the bunkhouse magnified the impact of the pelting rain and blended in our dreamworld as a sort of dark reminder of the power of Mother Gaia.

Morning in Piedmont? Late. Wet. The Chairman opened his new covered porch for use by his hired help. Approval was universal, and our butts were dry and the chill moisture warded off by stout roofing. Inside, in the warmth, the flat screen continued to talk about storm surges, wringing the last “news” from Ian’s impact down south, and the consequences of the failure of levees and barrier island causeways were demonstrated under paradoxically clear blue skies.

We have none of that, since the northward path of the storm is partially blocked by winds from the north, and Ian’s power is now muted. The leaves on our boundary trees wave here, but they are almost a gentle reminder of what had the strength to rip roofs from houses and surge salty water into subdivisions. Not here. Not like Fort Myer. We are just late in starting and saturated beyond the porch-line. No drama remains, though the coverage of disaster elsewhere builds an incongruous sense of relief and gratitude.

Reports from Tidewater had a few trees down and ten degrees cooler than Piedmont. So, from this edge of the Big Storm, our emergency services are working and we are thankful that our preparations appear sufficient for this contingency. It is enough to let us return to reports from other Human-related stormy weather. Who would deliberately sabotage pipelines? Is it an effort to impose privation on Europeans? With nuclear weapons part of that equation?

We prefer the version that Ian brought us. Cold, late and wet can be dealt with. The inverse series brought on by a hot, sudden and intensely dry event might be a different sort of challenge.

Copyright 2022 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com