by Michael Taylor

      Hurricane Donna defined hurricanes for me on September 10, 1960 at about 8 pm. That was when the first gale force winds began pounding the house my father built on the Quarter Circle A Ranch seven miles east of Parrish, FL. Although a scary night unfolded, my nine-yer-old mind experienced a thunder-booming, wind-howling, lightning-filled adventure. The storm flooded Gamble Creek which rose over the bridge and the dirt road coming into the ranch from State Road 62. That exit and entrance to the ranch was blocked for two days. Power lines were down during that time, and we had no telephone service on the ranch, but we did have chickens for fresh eggs, a cow for fresh milk, and a freezer full of beef and pork. Even if the power had allowed us to watch our black and white television, we only received two stations…and only one, WFLA Channel 8, could be viewed without serious distortion lines traveling across the screen…if the antenna, extending six feet above the roof, was pointed in the right direction. A radio was our connection to the outside world.

      The eye of Donna had run along the west coast of Florida and crossed inland just north of Fort Myers.  After passing through Manatee County, the storm exited at Daytona Beach. Still a powerful hurricane, Donna moved offshore of Georgia and South Carolina and heavy rain and high surf slammed their coasts.  She came ashore in North Carolina as a Category 2 hurricane, and headed northeast, making a final landfall on Long Island, NY. Donna killed over 350 people and damage estimates were $900 million, which would equal about 8 billion dollars today. Florida’s population in 1960 was about three million. Donna made landfall on the Florida Keys as a Category 4 Hurricane and holds the record for retaining major hurricane status in the Atlantic Basin for the longest period of time, 9 days with maximum sustained winds of at least 115 mph.

      Hurricane Gladys in 1968 further informed my concept and response to tropical storms, which I captured in short story that was published in the Gulfport Gabber on October 18, 2023 and is a chapter in Growing Up Floridian, the memoir I self-published in 2016.

      The adventurous notion of tropical storms ended for me last year with the back-to-back pounding of Pinellas County by Hurricanes Helene and Milton. The damage they wrought brought about an eviction from Seaside Villas in Gulfport of my wife and I. Although we resided in a second floor apartment and only lost my wife’s vehicle to the storms, we were forced to find a new abode after a few weeks of searching on DuPont Street in Gulfport.

      In response to human toll wreaked by the recent hurricanes, my wife, Lynn, decided, with the help of the Gulfport Gabber, to ask the Gulfport creative community to submit artistic responses to their hurricane experiences that would be collected for a book, which has become: Gulfport Rising: A Florida Beach Community Reflects on Hurricanes Helene & Milton, which will be introduced at a free public event by DRV Gallery and Deserie Valloreo on October 18, 2025.

My submission:

      During the 2024 hurricane season, Gulfport sustained damage from the trifecta of  Debbie, Helene, and Milton. Debbie dumped so much rainfall that the Port of Tampa was closed for two days because of high winds and water. Over 20 boats washed ashore during Debbie in Gulfport. The surge from Helene further inundated saturated ground, and Milton followed with devastating winds and rain. Meteorologists explained the season as a La Nina event, a weather phenomenon that brings contrasting changes to the southern US, sees warmer than average temperatures with reduced precipitation but increases the severity of the Atlantic hurricane season with impact on upper-level winds in the region. Such events may have a three, five, or seven year cycle; however, three hurricanes slamming a small area in the same season is dramatically unusual. As a resident of Pinellas County for the last 60 years, I witnessed the last hurricane that directly impacted the area, Gladys, from the front seat of a 1960 Rambler on Pass-a-Grille Beach in 1968. That experience colored my mindset with the majestic power of a storm that leaves understandable destruction from which recovery seemed quick. The triple hit of the 2024 storms recalibrated my subconscious perception of hurricane power.

“Hurricane Mind”

The hurricane mind, created by following storm tracks across the
gulf, responds to the pressure outflow with a diversity of mental construction. The paths instruct the emotional confluence to recall storms of yesterday and yesteryear and recount historical trajectories that offered little real destruction.

As a community, we have viewed hurricanes as adventures bringing gales and surfable waves, as cones of possibility, as visitors, who would leave little evidence of disturbing raves, but not as radical, destructive entities.

The passages of Helene and Milton deconstructed and
reconstructed hurricane reality for Gulfport residents. These
were not tempests brought forth for a sailor’s escapade in the bay, 
nor typhoons created for landlubbers’ soirées. They were
experiences we navigated that set new precedents.

High tidal water lines have ingrained a revised hurricane
conscience, a reworked awareness of elemental force, a somber
recognition of human frailty when faced with Mother Nature’s intensity released in squalls, whirlwinds, and floods.

The evolved hurricane mind, having filtered body and brain
realities, is also influenced by the language used by weather forecasters, news reporters, and anecdotal accounts of catastrophes.The new consciousness will prepare us for potential disasters.

Michael Taylor, author of Growing Up Floridian, the two-volume novel, Natalie, and poems in Gateway: Gulfport Poets, has lived in Gulfport since 1979.

——

(YouTube report)