Dear Reader,
I'm currently staying in Tallahassee, Florida and have spent all week preparing for my first hurricane. Or, rather, I've been ably assisting Ms Melinda, who has turned into a short whirlwind of planning, provisioning, and panicking.
It's been... educational. I now know many things about hurricanes. What they are. The warning signs to watch for to tell if the hurricane is
strengthening (millibars is my new word of the week). The many and myriad assorted dangers that come with them, from the terrifying (12 foot high storm surge, 150 mile-per-hour winds, weeks-long power outages) to the mundane (do you have any idea how long we'll be stuck in traffic if we don't get on the road before Wednesday?)
So much prep. Seriously so very much.
And then Hurricane Ian turned and made his leisurely way across to the other side of the state, avoiding our little slice Florida altogether.
I've never been so happy to see my time wasted. Never.
I'm Australian. I grew up in a country filled with bushfires, red-back spiders, funnel webs, tiger snakes, blue ringed octopuses, and assorted other pieces of nature that would happily kill you if you were unlucky enough to go near them. I don't scare particularly easy.
But hurricanes are scary.
