Like everyone else on the island, I was breathing a huge sigh of relief after Hurricane Beryl passed.
I’ll be honest – I really didn’t think we would be in trouble. It was tracking right towards us when it was days away. Usually that’s enough time for a significant change in direction. Then, of course, as it got closer, my body clock was synched with the times of the National Hurricane Center updates. Every morning, without fail, I’d wake up at 4 o’clock, then try to talk myself out of checking the website.
“Don’t do it, you can’t change the track, you need your rest, just go back to sleep, do NOT look at the site … ” But no matter what I did, I’d always end up peeking, squinting at the red swirl, then zooming in until Grand Cayman was nearly the size of my palm, trying to gauge the distance between us and the latest projections. By that time, slumber was a distant memory. Thus began a very crabby few days leading up to the final approach. I was officially on Martini Watch.
We were pretty well prepared, mainly thanks to bestie/housemate Lynne. She had flashlights, solar-powered lamps and a propane stove. I, just as IRL, was not bothered about cooking before or after a storm, but those who drank coffee were relieved to know that there would be hot water available, no matter what.
I and another friend, Andy, managed to get our generator started. I watched him attempt it first, then gently pushed him aside to show him the ‘proper technique’.
“Eyes on me,” I gestured.
Five minutes later, after nearly wrenching my arm from its socket through relentlessly pulling the recoil cord in the blazing hot sun – to no avail – Andy quietly suggested that the switch perhaps had to be in the ‘ON’ position for it to work. I stared at it, my face like a swollen, infected cherry, plastered with sweaty hair.
“Yes, maybe … ,” I muttered.
Sure enough; with the switch engaged, it sprang to life at the next pull.
I walked back into the house, desperate for a shower, but there was more left to do. One of the main things was to try and secure a backup place to go where we could take all our cats. My house is solid concrete, but it’s a bungalow. I called my real estate agent friend, Gemma, to see if there was anywhere available for us to rent. Unbelievably, she offered her own second-floor property – somewhere she had just bought that no one had lived in yet – for us to use, if we needed it. She also said that if we didn’t have to go there, we could offer it to any of our friends if they were stuck. That’s one of the positives (if there are any) about these situations: Community members stepping up and looking out for each other.
By the morning of 2 July, the only thing that concerned me were windows looking out over the back yard, which were not hurricane-rated. I tossed and turned about them, wondering if I should get plywood. By 4pm, I was convinced this was the way forward, but I was embarrassed about calling a company at the eleventh hour. Then I remembered the old saying: ‘Pride cometh before a flood’ (artistic license). I called Prendergast Cabinets and Furniture and babbled something about being an idiot, leaving it this late, but they couldn’t have been nicer. They told me to go there the next morning and they could load my 10 sheets up for me.
So, early on 3 July, three hours before I upgraded to Martini Warning, I headed to Prendergast and got my plywood. Straight after, I made a stop at Flowers Bottled Water to replace my two empty five-gallon bottles. That’s the problem – you stock up on drinking water, but then you guzzle all of it when you’re prepping outdoors.
The staff were fantastic at Flowers – fast and efficient. In an ordering process reminiscent of Seinfeld’s ‘Soup Nazi’, we had to state what we needed; whether we were paying cash, charge or on account; then take one step to the right. A lovely gentleman carried my bottles to my car and I headed home.
As I had cajoled my brother Dominic into installing the plywood, I figured the least we could do was convey it to the back of the house for him. Andy and I made multiple journeys from the street to the garden, each more laborious than the one before.
“You need a rest, Vicki?” Andy asked.
“Nope!” I yelled back from my front end of the 4’x8’, stubbornness personified, as I stumbled like a drunk.
“Those look pretty thin,” Lynne commented, practically bouncing past us in the other direction.
“Yeah, well, they look like thin, but they carry like thick,” I snapped, blind from sweat.
Gee, why would anyone prepare for a storm in advance?
Dominic was a star. He came around and got the plywood pieces up with Andy’s kind assistance, while I slept, face down, for a couple of hours.
I got up and went through a final checklist, and we braced ourselves as the winds began to pick up. We set the air-conditioning to something crazy like 69 degrees, so if we lost power, we’d have a cool house for a bit longer.
We all went to bed that night, wondering what we’d be faced with the next day. Now, as everyone knows, we were incredibly lucky … and barely anyone lost electricity!
We’ve still got five months ahead of us, so I’ll probably be leaving the plywood up for now. I’m also hoping to be better with my future plans to avoid last-day panic.
And, in the spirit of Caymankind shown to us, may I offer my expertise to anyone who doesn’t know how to start their generator? I’ll be happy to demonstrate.
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