It looked like it was coming close. It was our second week of performing Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None, and we didn't know how many performances we'd actually get to do. By Thursday, Hurricane Matthew looked on track to hit landfall in central or north Florida at as high as a Category Four.
On anticipation of its horrible arrival, we cancelled Friday's performance, but went ahead with Thursday's. That night the crowd was light, which was disappointing, because prior to the approaching storm we were on track to set attendance records for a non-musical.
As I was backstage Thursday night, I monitored the storm with my weather app (our modern cell phones give us the power of the universe at our fingertips, and are used mostly to watch pet videos and to find out what our friends had for dinner), and saw that Hurricane Matthews was moving closer instead of further away. Where I live, there have been a number of dire warnings about approaching hurricanes that for the most part wound up missing us. This one felt different.
But it wasn't. Updated forecasts from early Friday morning had it turning more to sea. We still didn't know for sure what we might be in for. It was a Category Three and it still could effect us. We had seen the huge crowd of vehicles jam our highways as coastal residents fled.
There was considerable devastation in the coastal areas. St. Augustine in Florida seemed to be particularly hard hit. There was damage from Florida to North Carolina, and there was some loss of life. It was bad, but it could have been so much worse had it turned just thirty miles or so to the west.
This was late in the year to get a storm of this intensity and endurance. They say the waters, particularly in the Caribbean and off Florida, were much warmer than normal. Unfortunately, "warmer than normal" appears to be the new normal. We may have to get used to this more often. I shudder to think what one might be like if it gets super-charged in the Gulf of Mexico again.
At our own place, we had the usual downing of tree limbs. We have an oak tree that can shed limbs in five mile an hour winds, so thirty five miles an hour can really shake it up.
We experienced a power loss hat lasted fifteen hours, which I think was the longest stretch I've experienced. It was fun to play cards by candlelight, and thankfully, I had a fully charged Kindle. Sleeping without the usual fans going was difficult enough, but hearing the winds and occasional limb crashings, sometimes banging hard against our metal roof, made rest impossible.
When we finally got power back Saturday afternoon, I was pleased to see that the storm had not been as devastating as feared. My friends and neighbors had come through well. We even had our final play performance that night. The only thing I had to be cautious about was that there was a part of the play where my character falls asleep in a chair, and then leaps up with a warning. I cautioned the cast - tonight, with all my sleep loss, I might go under for real. Fortunately for everyone, I woke up in time to hear my cue.
Another near miss. But we must not always assume that will be the case. The next one might not turn. And with the super-heated waters of the Gulf and Atlantic Ocean, I'm afraid the number of times we need to worry will be increasing.
Stay vigilant, my friends.
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