The cleanup begins, with the growls of chain saws joining the incessant blaring of 100-decibel generator engines in a post-hurricane duet that anyone in the hurricane belt will sadly recognize as the sounds of summer.
When a hurricane storm surge happens at Gumbo Cove, the water roars in from the Gulf and goes back out eventually, but leaves behind an unwelcome calling card: canal mud.
Trucks, big, strong, sturdy, beautiful trucks, barrelling down the highway in a convoy, filled with workers loaded for bear and ready to slay the dragons of downed power lines to bring the lights back on for the people.
Remembering storms whose names have spawned headlines and headaches, headstones and heartache, hardships and heroism. And wondering, why do we have to name storms after people? Why not use diseases or the periodic table? Or colors?
