One year ago today I dipped my daughter in a tub of freezing cold water when she couldn't stop crying for the heat. I yelled at my son, "I don't know where we're going. Just get in your seat." I realized we didn't have enough water to drink or gas for our cars. We took our chances with the gas and found ourselves very lucky just in time. We zig zagged our way out of Spring avoiding high water, downed trees, and any roads that led south or east. We eventually landed in Austin at a dear friend's house for one night, made our way to Kerrville the next, and landed in a tiny town called Hunt. We lived off the impressive generosity of new friends for the next month. Our older child went to school, and for a week our youngest did too. My husband and I tried to balance hanging on to our jobs and filing insurance claims from a cabin in the woods with maintaining our own sanity and the emotional health of our children. They knew we were not going back. After a time, my husband and I knew it too.
One year ago today, we began our confused and rocky journey toward a new life. We have been very fortunate. My job transferred, my husband went back to school, our kids are in a school we all love, and in a couple of weeks we'll move into the little house we just bought. Best of all, it's hurricane season, and we don't know if they're on Ferdinand or Ynez.
People ask me if I miss the water. I'm always surprised to find that I do. Ike was the second hurricane that my husband and I emerged from, and I've experienced countless unnamed floods, which means days spent shoveling mud from the driveway and fishing muddy bathing suits and old toys out of the oleander shrubs. Common sense says that's enough.
I'm sure the hills will feel like home someday, and in the meantime, it's not such a long drive to the coast.
