The Methodical Watch

This is how the story begins, I will probably post in sections over the coming days as time and resources permit. The last week has been surreal as we packed up and left knowing we may not come back to a home, we were luckily.
Like so many around here the story of us and Ike starts well before landfall. For almost a week we watched methodically as this peculiar storm wrecked havoc across Cuba and started its travels across the warm gulf waters. You can't evacuate for every hurricane you find yourself in the "cone of probability" (that looming white cone of where the storm might come ashore). This would be storm #3 since August that we found ourselves inside that cone. So we watched, turning off the fire and brimstone reporters, we ran to our computer every three hours hours for days to see the updated track from the National Hurricane Center in Central Florida. Ike was different, they had a hard time tracking him. The cone of probability extended from Mexico to Florida. They had never seen a hurricane take a direct path over Cuba. For a short time Ike had two eyes, for a time his surface level winds were more forceful than the upper level winds, and over the course of the week Ike grew into a monstrosity, his hurricane force winds extending 570 miles out.

For days we called friends, the conversation always the same "are you evacuating"? "Not sure, its dropping south, we might be okay". Five days before landfall the mayor of Galveston stated the island would just catch the corner of the storm, no need to evacuate and we all breathed a sigh of relief. We watched thousands in the neighboring counties left under a "mandatory evac"

Wednesday night I sat down at my computer and the models had shifted north, close to Galveston. Jared and I packed bags in anticipation of leaving, but it had been moving north all day, so we both thought by the time we woke up its northward journey would put us on the south side or "clean side" of the storm.

I woke up Thursday morning about 6 am, went to my trusty Florida Hurricane site. And there he was, eyed in on Galveston Island, we are 20 miles inland of Galveston so a hit for them meant a hit for us. I scrolled down to see Ike was projected to become a CAT IV and hit as a CAT III. I grabbed Jared out of bed, the decision had finally become clear, it was time to jump ship. We were under 48 hours from landfall and we knew hundreds of thousands of other would be making the same decision to leave their homes in the early hours of the morning, timing was crucial, I-45 was already clogging with hurricane-crazed drivers.

Jared still had to go into work. He helped me drag out the virgin plywood that had been taking up space in our garage since we moved two years ago. I quickly went to work sawing, fitting and hanging sheets of plywood as I watch our neighborhood turn into what looked like a ghost town. The hum of power saws and electric drills filled the air. The only thing louder was the sneering noise of the chopper blades flying overhead. Everyone was out, we were throwing back and forth drills, saws, evacuation plans and contact numbers.
And then it was time to pack. People often ask what you pack, what are the truly important things? The things you cherish, the items that might be the only things you possess in 48 hours. When we evacuated for Rita a few years back, we packs wedding albums, photos, some artwork. This time priorities have changed. The few "important items" we set aside to pack a pack-n-play so Eliza would have a place to sleep and enough food to feed an army, or two of my kids. We packed 4 outfits a piece, the kids picked out one toy to take, bedding, the title to our house, our insurance policy and a small box of century old photos from my grandmother and a copy of a handcock journal from the pioneer trek. We locked the door, said a prayer and we left with thousands of others.