It’s all hands on deck these days in my world. If you hadn’t noticed, we’re further into the alphabet of named storms than we usually are by this time in August.
For context, our most recent truly terrible hurricane of the last decade was three years ago, and we were only in the front third of the alphabet when we named Harvey and Irma.
At the time of this writing, what had been known just hours ago as Tropical Depressions 13 and 14 just became Tropical Storms (TS) Laura and Marco, with expectations quite strong that before long at least one could get a promotion to Hurricane. (By the time you read this, we’ll know the answer to that uncertainty.) California is facing two of the most intense fires in recent history, on top of other fires already in progress, as they are barely into the start of what is fast becoming a year-round fire season, complicated by the remnants of Tropical Storm Genevieve threatening to drop off what’s left of her lightning bolts into more dry tinder.
We have adjusters deployed. Adjusters on standby. Adjusters who are not yet adjusters wanting to be trained to be adjusters. It is, in my business, our season. Our time to shine.
But it also means my inbox is full of alarm. A steady stream of sirens blaring about one event after another, some of which amount to something, some of which fizzle out to a fading chorus of much ado about nothing.
When we name these storms, it changes how we talk about them. We drop the “Hurricane” or “Tropical Storm” titles, engaging them on a first-name basis, as though we are talking about a friend, a co-worker, a troublesome family member.
As part of our Poet Laura initiative, we have encouraged our community to write poems about Lauras. After reading an inbox full of alerts about, in particular, TS Laura, I have this to say.
The Forecast of Laura
All the headlines in my inbox today are flashing
URGENT!
Laura this,
Laura that.
Laura needs to be watched
extremeley closely,
one says, misspelling extremely in its haste
to warn about her
(probable) rush into the Gulf.
I wanted to update you on Laura,
says another—
oddly intimate—
and say how concerned I am becoming.
The forecast of Laura is difficult, they say
(and we all agree)
while so many questions remain unanswered.
She is still pondering, it seems,
the areas of her exploration, eyeing
Hispaniola,
Puerto Rico,
her sights possibly fixed
on Jamaica
and the
Yucatan Peninsula.
But where exactly Laura emerges
in the Gulf of Mexico
will tell us all
we need to know about what she thinks of
less exotic places:
Galveston
Louisiana
Mississippi.
Hell.
She might even be considering Alabama.
All of them worry
about
her
strength,
her
wildness,
her
unpredictability.
They shouldn’t, really.
________________
Photo by Olivier Letourneaux, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post and poem by Will Willingham, author of Adjustments: a novel.
“
Adjustments is more than a good novel; it is a fine novel. It is, simultaneously, moving and real and surprising and true. We see ourselves and our personal histories in Will Phillips, Joe Murphy, and Pearl Jenkins. Like Will, we bear scars. In Joe, Pearl, and Cameron, we experience offered hope. This is a story about what matters, and it’s told beautifully well.”
—Glynn Young, author of Dancing Priest
- Don’t Ask Why Book Club: From New York to Paris - November 10, 2021
- Don’t Ask Why: So Many Meteorites - October 27, 2021
- Don’t Ask Why Book Club: Dolores - October 20, 2021
L.L. Barkat says
It actually looks pretty terrifying by today. (A few days after you penned this?)
One can only hope that the 140 mph winds decrease a bit by landfall. (This is climate telling us such an important tale. I hope we will begin to listen to water, wind, and fire more intently going forward.)
Will Willingham says
Yes, this was on Saturday. A lifetime ago, in hurricane time. Despite the final line (which is more meant about that friend, co-worker or family member than about an actual Category 4 hurricane on her way to Category 5), she has become terribly worrisome. Winds are expected to be at 150. She, and her companions, have a good deal more to say.
Megan Willome says
This is a great poem, Will.
And I like how you pointed out that after storms do their damage we refer to them by their first name, as if they are someone we know. Which, we do.
Take care, this busy season.
Will Willingham says
Thanks Megan.
It’s true, we do seem to know them. Or know someone.
Sandra Heska King says
I am reading this the day after. At one point, Laura (except I think was was still TS14) had swallowed Florida. Perhaps if she had and not taken advantage of the highs and lows in her surroundings–or not had a mind of her own, we would have only been a fleeting taste from the dessert bar instead of a whole Gulf buffet. She will be retired now (sent to hell?), never to bother anyone again. And yet there’s another wave or two heading this way–to be or not to be.
Sophie has a FB friend (ItsFluffyTheFluffyDog) on IG. She and her family were under an evacuation warning (the dog’s grandpa having already been ordered out of his place to theirs.) They did not have to actually flee, but “she” spoke of expecting “dry” thunderstorms with bad lightning. I’d never heard anything of that.
Will Willingham says
I wrote this on Saturday, when things were still very uncertain and we wondered if she and Marco would both be a lot of bluster but not a lot more. But she definitely took a turn. It does seem she did not do what she could have even this time, despite how terrible she is.
Hope things hold for you. It’s a long season yet ahead.