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Escape from Hurricane Harvey

This is a journal entry I wrote about a week after Hurricane Harvey flooded our home on August 29, 2017, describing our evacuation odyssey.  

 

Monday, August 28, 2017, we spent the day trying to get things to safer places, Just in Case. Put some furniture up on blocks, moved genealogical things to the tops of high surfaces like the five-foot upright piano, moved other important things as high as they could go.

We didn’t seriously consider evacuating because it took everyone by surprise. By the time we thought we might need to evacuate, the roads were already flooded in Beaumont and near Sour Lake, so we didn’t know where we could go: couldn’t get to Houston (which was itself a mess and maybe getting worse) due to flooded roads, didn’t want to follow the storm east, and we kept hearing that we couldn’t go north either because of flooded roads. We didn’t have a truck, just cars. Our house had never flooded in its 50 years; it is at the highest elevation in all of Pinewood. (In the ’94 flood, the previous record flood, we had received 22” of rain in 24 hours, and the drainage ditch was a quarter or less of its current capacity, so we thought that as long as there were gaps in the rain the drainage would be able to keep up.) It wasn’t raining, so we expected the water would drain, and hoped that maybe the worst was over. We had lost power, but we had a generator. The huge drainage ditch (quadrupled in size since the last big flood, as a post-Rita FEMA project) wasn’t full, and was still flowing the right way. And then the ditch slowed and slowed and started flowing backwards. (This turned out to be because the slow-moving storm wreaked havoc with its measly two-foot storm surge timed with high tide, so the water couldn’t drain out into the Gulf. Also, the rainfall total for our neighborhood ended up being 62”—just a side note, that’s taller than I am.) And then it was too deep to get out of our street in our cars. Coulda, woulda, shoulda left that morning, hindsight being 20/20 and all that. But we did the best we could with what information we had.

It rained off and on in the night (but at a rate of 1-2” per hour) and when I got up Tuesday morning at 5am, the water was up to the door thresholds into the garage (despite sandbags!) and the front door. We got up, finished packing our Go-bags, and started trying to move more things to higher ground. I moved a few books to upper shelves but not much. Moved my desktop CPU to the top of the filing cabinet, a few other things to the top shelf of my desk, put a few things into ziplock bags. I had been sick for a few days and was having a really hard time working and had to rest a lot. I simply didn’t have the energy to try to save more. If I’d been able to work harder the day before, I might have gotten some books or other things into the attic. But I couldn’t, so I couldn’t.

We were hearing airboats all around us but never saw one. My mom waded out to the mailbox to hang a white towel, a signal we had been instructed to use. Our house is at the end of a short cul-de-sac and we were worried that no one knew we were there. We called several local government entities and finally got through to the Sour Lake Fire Department, which we had been told was coordinating evacuation of Pinewood. We got on their list, but because the water was only a few inches deep in our house at that point, we weren’t very high up on their priority list. They were focused, rightly, on the back of the subdivision where people’s homes had water up to the eaves. They also told us that they would only take our pets at the shelter in Sour Lake if they were crated. We don’t have a crate for Neo, my 13-year-old Dobermann, and I seriously wondered if I would have to ask my brother, Dan, to shoot my dog. (N.B. It turns out that although this was true—the Red Cross shelter would not take uncrated animals—the people of Sour Lake came and built a shelter for pets that weren’t allowed in the people shelter! Also, the shelter soon overflowed from the Baptist Church into the Catholic Church next door, and also the Community Center, and the people of the town of Sour Lake [2010 pop. 1800, while Pinewood is pop. 1600] were not just bringing food, dry clothing, and supplies, but taking people into their homes for showers, laundry, etc.)

We talked by phone to a neighbor who had gotten out the day before and he told us that they had started taking people from Pinewood east into Beaumont, not into Sour Lake. Shortly thereafter I was inspired to call my friend Emily, whose apartment is very near the shelter they were reportedly going to take us, and asked if she could take us or at least Neo. She had been in Kountze but was actually on her way back to her apartment to check on her cat with her boyfriend in his big 4-door Dodge Ram truck. She didn’t hesitate for a moment, just said yes, we will come get you, wherever you end up, if we can get there.

That morning we had gotten both 15-pound cats into their crates and put them up on the table and the barstool (they were Not Happy), and gotten Neo onto the couch in the living room, where he fell asleep because he was so tired from wading around in the water. We got all of our Go-stuff staged by the back door, most of it in trash bags to keep dry. It had not been raining all day but it started to rain lightly at about 3pm. The water had been steadily rising all day and had reached about a foot high. We were really starting to get concerned about rescue. Dan had registered us with the Cajun Navy and at least three people said they were on their way if they could get there. He also had friends from San Antonio with connections to people with helicopters that were our last resort (there’s another long story there, involving former special ops guys). He went out to talk on his phone I think and talked to our next-door neighbor who was still there too with his two big dogs. And then suddenly an airboat appeared and Dan waved it down.

They already had one family aboard with a Down’s Syndrome little boy, a teenaged girl holding a cat wrapped in a towel, and a labrador retriever. They said they could take us all, no problem, but we had to leave right then. They pulled up to the bumper of our cars and we started ferrying stuff out. The water came in over the tops of my rubber boots. It was as I looked up to say thank you and hand my first bags into the boat that I had a moment of pure relief. The sight of that calm, competent-looking stranger with his broad shoulders in his cammos holding his hand out to me reassured me that we were really going to get out safely, all of us. We were not panicking, but it was so comforting. I just knew that he would not fail us.

They loaded us all up, picking up Neo (who was chest-deep in the water) and putting him in the boat—the other evacuees taking his leash and holding him while we kept loading up—got all the weight distributed, and went to my neighbor’s house and promised they would come back for him next trip. Then we started out. Mostly using ditches, they took us all the way down Pinewood Boulevard—and turned left, towards Beaumont. That was the first moment I knew where we were headed. They took us all the way to Tram Road, about five miles, mostly down the ditches. Every time we crossed a driveway that was out of the water or had only a few inches, they revved the boat up and over—whomp, whomp, whomp—bouncing us quite a bit. All the women and children were on the (thankfully padded) bench seat, with just a couple of bags, Neo, and the cat crates in front of us. It was raining, and the rain stung our faces when we looked up. Neo tried to make himself as small as possible under my feet. My 73-year-old mom was bent over double because she was cold. The poor cats bounced and got soaked with rain. The bags with our clean clothes got soaked with rainwater (thankfully not floodwater). I did my best to live in the moment and pay attention, but I don’t ever want to have to do that again! It was exciting, but not in a good way!

They got us down Highway 105 to Tram Road, where an army of men and vehicles was waiting. It turned out that the boats belonged to the Texas Game Wardens. I don’t know if the men driving the boat were actual game wardens, but all of these people were volunteers. And they literally saved hundreds of lives that day. I have not heard of any human fatalities in Pinewood, Countrywood, Bevil Oaks, or Northwest Forest, or any of the private roads in between, all of which had every last house flooded.

They got us and our belongings to a Jefferson County transport van, loaded us up again, and then took us up Highway 105 to the Christian Academy just inside Beaumont. This turned out to be a completely volunteer shelter, not affiliated with the Red Cross. They just decided to open up their doors to us. (The lady who cuts my mom’s hair was there helping her husband, a coach there, to open it.) We were among the first people there. Lots of dogs, lots of very wet people. We had been soaked to the skin during our airboat ride despite our raincoats. I got my rubber boots off and put on my crocs. I had blisters and was soaked, but my mom and brother had been walking around with wet feet all day.

I called Emily to tell her we’d gotten through, and she and Brandon (her boyfriend) showed up in less than five minutes. Loaded us up and got us to Emily’s second-floor apartment. Got us unloaded and upstairs. Power and hot water! Even a washer and dryer! Hooray! The plan was that we would camp out at Emily’s for one night and then my niece Kristina would come get us. (She wanted to come that afternoon but my mom told her not to because of the various road closures.)

We started drying our clean clothes and washing dirty ones. We all wanted to shower, but we were too exhausted. And then it turned out that the road from Beaumont to Kountze (where Brandon lives) had been closed due to rising water (a bridge actually washed out at some point). So were were all piled up in a tiny one-bedroom apartment: Emily, Brandon, and her cat; six Wallaces including animals. Emily and Brandon went out for Jack-in-the-Box around the corner. We had managed to bring bedrolls, and get them dry. So all we wanted was dry clothes and space enough to lie down. It was enough.

And then the power went out overnight. No more laundry! Half our things were still wet. As the day wore on I grew worried about my cats. I was taking them into the bathroom one at a time, letting them out of their carriers, and trying to get them to eat, drink, and/or use the litter box, but they wouldn’t. They prowled around, hid behind the toilet, and then I had to stuff them back into their carriers. Emily was keeping her cat confined in her bedroom, so sometime in the afternoon we decided to let them out of their carriers in the living room. After a few hours, they both began to do what they needed to do. They weren’t speaking to each other, though! They kept their distance and Blackie hissed at Boots whenever he got too close. Neo had a lot of trouble with the stairs and by the time we left, Brandon was carrying all 70 pounds of him up the stairs!

My mom had had surgery on her wrist ten days before and had had an apointment the day before we evacuated to get her stitches out. So one of the tasks for that day at Emily’s was to go out and find a clinic that could remove them. (I had tried to remove them but since they were a few days past the due date, they didn’t come out easily.) Fortunately one of the drugstore clinics was able to take care of that. No infection or other complications from the dirty floodwaters.

Another night on the floor, hoping for the power to come back on. Instead, the water went off! It was actually turned off by the city because it had become contaminated. Suddenly Beaumont was an island. All roads in and out were flooded—and that could easily have turned into a long-term catastrophe with no potable water. But Brandon heard that there was one lane open on I-10 East and that there might be a hotel room available in Sulfur, Louisiana. From there he wanted to try to work his way north and back to Kountze the next day. So we all got up around 6:30 and hit the ground running. We packed everything and everyone into the truck and headed for the interstate. Mom realized at some point that the entire Wallace family was crammed into the back seat of the truck. We were actually much more comfortable than we had any right to expect, though!

As we headed east, we met people coming back west (same side). They said the water had gotten too high even for big pickups and the road was now closed.  Brandon cogitated a few moments and then announced we were going to try to get out via 90 West. This had been closed at Nome (due south of Sour Lake) for a few days already. But the waterways to the west had mostly already crested and were going down, while to the east they were still on the way up. So this turned out to be a very good decision.

When we got to Nome, the road barriers were still up, but trucks were going past. We stopped at the corner gas station to talk to folks and try to find out the real status of the road. And at the gas pump Brandon met someone he had gone to school with! He didn’t know very much about the road, but it was enough to encourage us to try. Trucks were coming through from the other direction.

When we got to the water, there was DPS there turning cars away. Big trucks at your own risk. Most medium trucks opted not to go. We went through in a slow, steady convoy with several other large pickups, riding the brakes to keep them dry. We could see that the water had receded some. It was several miles of water, but it never even came up to the bottom of the truck, and we could see by the truck in front of us that it was clear by inches. Emily filmed the adventure with her phone and she timed it at 11 minutes. (She later posted a highly entertaining account of it with a condensed version of the video on her blog, which I’ve linked in a FB post, or you can search for her blog, “fogisbeautiful.”)

After that we drove west all the way to Liberty, went north on 146 to Livingston, then back east towards Woodville and so down to Kountze. We got there about 11:30 a.m., high and dry with no further problems. But they had lost power at Brandon’s that morning!

Fortunately, he had a generator and was able to get a window a/c unit running, and he had a gas water heater so we could take showers! And best of all, his mom and dad, who live next door, came over to clean (they obviously had been in the midst of cleaning when the power went out), bringing fresh sheets, pillows, towels, soap, etc. They even taped foil over the windows of one of the bedrooms and the bathroom so that I would be more comfortable (I am light sensitive). They brought a queen-sized airbed with a frame for Dan to sleep on in a rom to himself. My mom and I shared a room with an actual bed in it! Then Brandon’s mom fixed dinner for everyone at her house. And she helped my mom use her landline to call FEMA and her insurance adjustor (which she had done herself the night before). Just that little bit of moral support to make a phone call was really helpful because were were all so very tired. But that was on top of everything else they had done for us.

I have to stress that these people did not even know us. Emily is my very good friend, but I had only met Brandon two or three times. We’d never gone out together or hung out together. My family and I were exhausted, wet, bedraggled, homeless, smelly refugees with a dog and car-sick cats (Brandon doesn’t even like cats) and they took us in with hugs and took care of us. We were so exhausted that we couldn’t even help make the beds. Brandon’s parents, with some help from Brandon and Emily, did it all. The only thing they forgot was pillow chocolates! They were so incredibly kind and generous. There is no way to repay something like that, and it would be offensive to try, because it comes from love. Even though we were strangers. We were overwhelmed, and so, so grateful.

Meanwhile, my niece Kristina had been nearly frantic for days wanting to come pick us up and bring us to her house in Pasadena, but there were too many flooded roads. The next morning, though, Ryan was able to come get us via much the same route we had gone, though coming from Pasadena north to Livingston and then over, and back home the same way. So midmorning we said thank you and goodbye to our hosts and came to Pasadena.

Here at Kristina’s we have nine humans, three dogs, two cats, and a guinea pig! Everyone is doubled up for sleeping arrangements but we’re making it work. Mom and I are in Levi’s room (light-blocked for me) with a really nice queen-sized blowup mattress and the two kitties, who are slowly making up with each other. Neo can’t handle the stairs, but he too is adjusting. Last night he slept downstairs by himself for the first time. Dan has a queen-sized airbed in Emmett’s room. Everyone started school yesterday. Ryan’s mom Beth lives here too and takes care of the baby. We’re managing with a minimum of drama or fuss.

We’re so fortunate to have a loving family to take us in. No one could ask for more. Though our house is destroyed, we will be okay. All those trite sayings about how “it’s just stuff” and “as long as you are safe with your family, that’s all that matters”—well, it’s trite because it is true.

2 replies on “Escape from Hurricane Harvey”

Thank you for taking the time to read it. After two years, we are finally starting to feel like we are almost recovered physically.

People helping people was The Story of Hurricane Harvey. It wasn’t FEMA out there saving lives and providing food and shelter. It was people. Just one example: there was a group of Menonites (from Pennsylvania I think) who came down and set up at the kitchen at the VFD in Sour Lake and stayed there for two months (?) cooking meals for the first responders and local residents during the SAR and mucking-out phases. We ate there a few times.

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