The beginning of September, 2017 was a pretty rough ride. We had only purchased our property down on Big Pine Key, which is roughly 2/3 of the way down the island chain of the Florida Keys, in March of that year. My husband was down there until about a week before the news broke that Hurricane Irma was bearing down, heading straight for Key West. At that point, it was projected to hit Key West proper, which is at the very end of the island chain, and so we figured we’d probably suffer some heavy wind and rain damage, but not as much as a direct hit. We went to bed on Friday night, September 8th, with that thought in our minds and on our hearts. However, when we awoke on Saturday the 9th, that all changed. I will never forget watching the report on the Weather Channel, as they showed the radar and the map that obviously displayed our greatest fear. Big Pine Key was going to take a direct hit. I remember staring at the television in utter disbelief, although my subconscious knew better, as tears began to run down my face. Our home away from home could potentially be destroyed. I hadn’t even seen it in person yet–only through photos my husband had sent me. The only thing I could cling to was the fact that my husband was safe with me at home in NH and not down there. And on Sunday the 10th, at 9:10 am, Irma hit Big Pine and Cudjoe Key with a force of 120 mph, classified as a Category 4. Our ten mile stretch was the hardest hit. But all we could do was sit, watch and wait. Because Irma wasn’t done. She continued her journey, up the western Florida coastline, hitting other tropical paradises as well. And then all we could do is wait. Wait for word of the totality of devastation. Wait for cell service to return to the area. Wait for the state and county to clear the roads and bridges for travel. Wait, wait, wait. Nope. Not the easiest thing in the world.

I had to DO something. My husband was going out of his mind, loading up his truck and trailer with his buddy and supplies, prepared to repair the worst of the worst–but we still had to wait for word that travel was being permitted. So, I took to the one world I’m most familiar with: Facebook. I joined every Facebook group I could find associated with the area, the hurricane and anything else remotely related. I stumbled on a great page, Irma Big Pine Key. There, I found many to commiserate with, and residents who had chosen to stay behind rather than evacuate to provide information. I also found something I have never witnessed before in my life. I found a population of people so kind, so generous, so resilient. I found people who were posting offers of driving truckloads of supplies down, simply asking for lists of what people needed. I found people who were driving down, offering people rides, sight unseen. I found people helping people. It really is true, in our darkest days is when the brightest light shines through. We still had no idea if our home was even still standing. But the stories I was hearing from people were pretty grim. Roofs torn off of houses like tin can lids. Homes completely flattened. First-hand accounts of 10-11 foot waves coming across low-lying parts of the island. And the list goes on.

A couple of days later, as I continued to stalk that page like it was my job, a kind soul had sent a drone up across a good sized section of the island, and it happened to be around our neighborhood. I scoured through 183 aerial photos, with the Google maps street view opened in another tab, to see if our house was captured. Remember, I still had not seen the place in person. But my husband very wisely painted our house a beautiful light ocean blue color (not a common color), so I knew to look closely at those homes. I finally came upon an image shortly before he came through the door. The house looked to not have sustained much damage. A few trees down and about 1/4 of the roof shingles were gone. But no huge, gaping holes. Doors appeared intact. Even our son’s truck that was parked there looked to be fine. My husband was awestruck. First, that I found the image: “Baby, yes, that’s it…I can’t believe you found it!!” And second, that our home appeared to be minimally damaged. We felt a bit of relief, although, still much unknown. We didn’t know how much moisture had gotten in. Power had been out a full two weeks at this point. And although on stilts, the lower level of the home had been refinished to living space to make room for visitors. A few days later we got word that the bridges suffered no structural damage and the roadways were being opened up, so down they headed, supplies in tow, ready to work.

When they got there, they couldn’t believe what they saw. It looked like a war zone. Trash, debris, furniture, vehicles everywhere. But as they pulled in, miraculously, the power came back on. Still no running water, but it was a start. Yes, our bottom floor needed to be gutted and re-refinished. Yes, there were palm trees down and our fence was destroyed. But our top floor was fine. Not so much as a window frame was damaged. One screen was torn. That’s it. There by the Grace of God… Of course, the refrigerator was destroyed from rotted food and needed replacing. But the tar paper on the roof had held up so no water from the storm got into the upper living space. We were spared, to say the least. Many, many others were not so lucky.

I traveled down a month later. And they had made huge progress in the clean up efforts. Daily, there were tractors and trucks hauling debris away from the sides of the streets–so that people could continue to empty their destroyed belongings out for removal. It was endless.

Both sides of the highways were endless piles of debris the size of buildings. Excavators were dwarfed in comparison next to them. Day after day, trucking debris north. The coastline was littered with boats, buoys, driftwood, and all kinds of other debris stirred up by the storm surge. It was unbelievable. Like something you see in a disaster movie. Because it was, in fact, a disaster.

The tourist industry took a huge hit as well as the land. People weren’t coming. I had only been one other time before, but I had never seen Duval Street so deserted. But the people working in the shops, restaurants, bars, and art galleries all had the same things to say. Thank you. Thank you for coming. Thank you for helping us rebuild our lives. And then when we’d tell them we have a place in Big Pine…hugs, tears and exclamations “Oh my God, are you guys ok?? Is your place ok??” We were always very mindful of our words, and I always said, we were beyond lucky and we’re ok, and made sure to ask the same in kind of them. Some were, some were not. Fantasy Fest, one of the biggest tourism events of the year, was beginning and there weren’t huge crowds. But there were faithful returnees who weren’t going to let some stupid hurricane get in the way of tradition. And so the week went on, locals and visitors alike, flipping the big old bird at Irma. Because although she may have stolen away a lot, she could not have possibly diminished the spirit and light that shines within this population of people. They are by far some of the most resilient people I have ever witnessed, with kindness in their souls and warrior spirits in their hearts. I consider myself greatly blessed to have witnessed such a thing. I also consider myself one of them.

I returned again in February, May, and November of last year (2018) and amazingly, there are still blue tarps on a lot of roofs. The healing process is a slow one. But the crowds are back. Tourism is back on top of its game. But there were casualties. A number of storefronts and bars that were open and thriving pre-Irma never returned after. Many people are still without their homes. But you’d never know it. Because Key West is still THE party to go to.