What did you do to prepare for Ike? Tell us about it !  Did you evacuate? Where did you go? What did you do there? What sentimental things did you take with you? What would you do different next time? What were your damages from the storm? Do you have suggestions, photos or experiences to share? We want to hear about them!
 
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Ike’s Visit and Aftermath

Tales from River’s End – Passport to Adventure

 

by Janice R. Edwards

 

 

Greetings from River’s End.

 

I guess we all knew that a hurricane would eventually visit our slice of the good life down here at the end of the river. Then, all of a sudden, a storm that was originally forecast to go up the Atlantic Coast, bothering no one, turned its bad intentions to the Texas Coast. Even my homemade “insurance policy” (an unopened package of file boxes that sat in my kitchen since our return from Rita’s warpath) did not work this time. Ike just had to visit Texas.

 

It was time to pack up and get out. Ike was big, strong and mean. When Roy and I evacuated for Rita, both of us were like zombies and couldn’t figure out what to do next. But this time, we each packed our sections of the house like old pros. Our new son-in-law came down and helped us get everything boarded up and irreplaceable things packed. We were out of here in a day and safely installed at our daughter and son-in-laws place with a day of waiting for the storm to come in.

 

That’s when it started to sink in. No matter what happened to the coast or our house, life as we knew it was changing – and not for the better. We were sitting in a restaurant in Houston, when, though I had remained calm and collected while evacuating, I broke down and cried for the loss of things yet unknown. I knew what was going to be lost was just “stuff” – but, as it turns out, it was our stuff, and our friends’ stuff. It felt like a good friend had died.

 

We weathered the storm in Houston. I had to wonder – why do these storms always seem to come during the night when you can’t see into the darkness and that makes everything 100 times scarier? But, then, I thought – maybe we really don’t want to see what’s going on around us. But then the storm was over, everyone was ok and we cleaned up around the house and took down the boards covering the windows. But did we have a home left down at River’s End?

 

We had taken the Brazoria Co. Hurricane Preparedness brochure along with us which had the emergency numbers to call. All that was working was the cell phone – but Roy called the Emergency Manager in Brazoria trying to find out if the roads were open and word on what happened to River’s End. The roads were open, but no one knew anything about River’s End. When Roy told them he was in REVFD, they told him that he could go on down and help make the assessment. Well, Roy was on a mission then. He loaded up the shot gun in his truck and trailer (with the extra gas cans in it – we learned that after Rita) I got in the 4-Runner and we were off for the end of the river.

 

The drive down 288 was clear all the way into Lake Jackson. But evidence of Ike’s tantrum were everywhere along the road. Downed signs. Twisted trees. We called in a snapped power line pole holding on by the power line. But the road was clear and remained clear. Then we got to FM 2918 – the first 3 miles were clear. But the last 6 miles were not for the faint of heart.

 

Water was flowing from the refuge side over 2918, trying to find the river. Reeds, logs, snakes and dead birds were piled up in the right lane up to four feet high and only a one car path strewn with debris was open. You did not dare look up at the fields around you because they looked like the Gulf of Mexico. Once you took this path, you were committed – there was no turning around. This familiar road we have traveled a thousand times was suddenly a rude stranger to us. What if nothing was left down at the end of the river?

 

We finally turned the corner and saw the rusty old REVFD station 1 standing. There was hope. We zigzagged past the debris on the road and found 441A, made the turn and began to hope. Our “Welcome to Fisherman’s Isle” sign was still there, and we looked to the right- hoping against hope. There she was, blue and white and battered and bruised – but still proudly standing with not even a shingle gone! We were home.

 

The first night with no power and no water – and the heat – was pretty bad. Usually familiar sounds that you like hearing at night became banshees scaring the living daylights out of you. Then the river rose again. We thought we were in trouble. But the morning dawned, the river went down, our neighbors trickled in, brought us a car charger for the cell phone. Then our other neighbors came bearing a generator and a power washer. Things looked a little brighter in the daylight hours. Another neighbor took his front end loader and cleared 6 miles of 2918. And then, the Calvary arrived – Jackson Electric. We did not have to spend another dark night on the river.  Time to start cleaning up and putting up.
 

 

I began refiling important papers and found an old notebook from my freshman year in college. I did not even know I had packed that. When I started to re-file it, it dropped and opened the following story. It was as if I had written it today, so I wanted to share it with you. Maybe it will help you all get over the wall of fear and frustration like it did me. It was titled The Encounter.

 

The Lost searched through the ages past, through the present, to what was to come.

 

The Lost found a box – tiny though it be, but containing a spark so great as to transform the Lost into the Found. The new Found began a life of hope, joy and sincerity, and most important, success.

 

In the meantime, a new generation of the Lost came into existence. The recalled Lost longed to know what in the box could transform the Lost to the Found.

 

The Lost chastised the Found, haggled with the Found, and begged the Found for the contents of the box. But the Found only stated, “In time enough, you will know.”

 

Angered to complete madness, the Lost attacked and killed the knowing Found. The box was now in the trembling hands of the Lost.

 

The lid was slowly taken from the box. COTTON!! The box was full of cotton – but, no – there was something else - - a tiny, slip of paper, and it said something.

 

“I am nothing but the wind and time, love and joy. I am composed of nothing, but I am something to believe in. I am Hope.”

 

The paper and the cotton were put back in the box by confident hands. The lid was replaced. The box was then clasped in the prayerful hands of the reclaimed Found, and what a great moan filled the earth for the pain of Truth’s rebirth.

 

 

Mail delivery started up again yesterday. Today the Facts was delivered on our doorstep. The sunrise over McNeil’s bayou was breath taking this morning. There is no more sea mud under our house and I think I’m going to make spaghetti for supper. Normal – whatever that is – is beginning to seep back into our lives. Maybe we got the wake up call in time and we won’t ever take even one thing we enjoy for granted – ever again. Looks like it’s going to be a good day in the neighborhood.

 

So, now what’s happening at the end of the river? Hope, clean-up, neighbors helping neighbors and the realization that this time, our precious “stuff” was spared. Hope to see you on the river soon when your lives, too, begin to become normal again. Until then, here’s wishing an air-conditioned place to rest, clean water to drink, ice, a full belly, a good neighbor, a stretched fishing line, a good story and your own River’s End.

 

 

 

FOR San Bernard Post Office Box 93 Brazoria, TX 77422