The Monster Ian: Hurricane spares Florida home of Monroe's Tom and Renee Treece

I love storms.

Don’t get me wrong; I have great respect for Mother Nature and her temper tantrums and have seen what her power can do. I’m not sure what my attraction is but I’ve always loved experiencing them up close and personal.

Most people call me a fool, or worse.

I’m no weather aficionado, but living half the year in Southwestern Florida one would surely be that fool if they didn’t keep an eye peeled to weather forecasts.

“That disturbance off the S. American coast looks like trouble,” I shared with my wife on the eve of September 26.

Days before we had flown from Michigan to winter in our N. Fort Myers home earlier than normal. I needed to resume infusions to counter the neurological disorder that had recently reared its ugly head once again in my life.  Little did we know of the different monster preparing to greet us.

The following evening my fears were manifested as now-named Hurricane Ian began his churning march north.  As I studied it closely I was calmed somewhat by its projected path taking it between Cuba and Jamaica and into the Gulf of Mexico; that path would target landfall much farther north of us to Tampa or the panhandle.

How quickly Mother Nature can change her mind!

I clicked on the TV the next morning only to find Ian blistering across the entire western half of Cuba, meaning Ian’s projected journey had drifted dramatically east, and on a new projected path with Fort Myers, Florida – and our home -- in its bullseye.

"We’ve got problems,” I told Renee as she wiped sleep from her eyes. “Ian is coming straight for us.”

"What do you want to do?” she asked.

Because of my love of storms I had always wanted to live through a hurricane, with the word “live” being the most obvious focus of that experience.  However, with my greatest treasure by my side, everything now was different; I was not willing to gamble with her life.

As we weighed our options, one thing was completely clear: It was time to do what the Edmund Fitzgerald didn’t do: batten down the hatches.

Using my wheelchair I picked up the many large potted plants and furniture scattered about our yard and shuttled them to a central location, hopefully out of the wind.  Anything that could be blown around was secured, or at least I hoped so.

Finally, when it was time to both hunker down and prepare to ride the storm out or hightail it out of Ian’s projected cone, my stepson, Aaron Knotts, called from Miami.

"Don’t even take a chance with your lives,” he warned. “Drive over and stay with me.”

Again I asked Renee what she wanted to do.

"I’m with you,” was her answer. “I trust your instincts.”

With that we loaded up all that was critically important to us and then joined the bumper-to-bumper exodus east across I-75’s Alligator Alley and spent the next two nights with him.

Monitoring Ian via TV as well as our home via security cameras on computer we watched helplessly as the hurricane made landfall the next afternoon just miles from our home. While his name made him sound mild-mannered, his presence proved he was nothing more than a monster that proceeded to rip apart any and everything in his path.

I had tried to coax the elderly couple living across the street from us to leave, but was rebuked with, “You have a home up north to go to if something happens; this is all we have; we’re staying to try and save our home.”

As we watched the whirling winds around Ian’s leering eye drift closer to our community I called to check on them.

"Our roof just blew off and rain is pouring in,” they lamented.

"You have keys to our home,” I assured them. “If it’s still intact, go there for as long as you need to.”  Gratefully, for both of us, they did.

Throughout that evening I watched on camera as Ian thrashed our home and neighborhood.  Limbs, lumber, insulation and aluminum flew through the air like falling leaves.

And then, the power was gone and it would stay gone for the next two weeks.

The following morning Renee and I dressed quickly, hugged Aaron goodbye and headed for the local Lowe’s just around the corner; there we bought the only generator available.  We also bought extra gas cans and filled them along with our van before leaving for home; days later we would sit in miles-long lines waiting to fill them again.

When we spoke with our neighbors they informed us that the widow next door had also lost her roof.  Knowing there would immediately be none available in the Fort Myers area, we purchased 30 x 50 tarps for them.  And, as anticipated, days later with roofless homes everywhere, tarps were virtually worth their weight in gold.

After re-crossing the southern tip of Florida we began to see outer edges of the damage in Naples; further north it grew worse, but nothing compared to finally arriving home.

As we drove in the entrance to our community Renee began weeping at the sight of the devastation. Home after home of our friends and neighbors had suffered major damage and a few, including one at the end of our street, was completely gone.

I steered around mounds of mangled debris as we crept down that street and as we finally came in sight of our home we shook our heads in amazement.

Ian had blown the front door of our lanai in and all the windows out. He had also dropped two of our beautiful palm trees, one fortunately across our neighbor’s front yard instead of her roofless house, but what minor damage that was compared to the destruction all around us.

Of 10 homes surrounding us in our cul-de-sac, eight were now roofless. Unlike those living closer to the coastline that was inundated by a 15 foot storm surge, wind was the tool Ian had used to carve up our neighborhood.

I turned off the van and we held hands and thanked God for His hand of mercy in our lives.

Just before we left for Miami - and just as we had done before visits of the past two hurricanes – we sat at our kitchen table, held hands and I prayed:  “Dear God, You gave us this home years ago and we’ve loved it, but we know to pray for Your will in our lives and if You take it now we will still love and praise You. Our request is that You put Your hedge of protection around it and we ask in Jesus’ name, Amen!”

Looking at the piles of aluminum and debris all around us, it was obvious He had done exactly as we had asked.

We immediately began our cleanup. We connected our generator to the fridge and freezer and I drove my wheelchair through back streets and yards to finally find all the windows from our lanai.

As it was cold showers for the next two weeks I decided I wouldn’t shave and now sport a graying, salt & pepper beard that will surely come off soon.

Every morning Renee would ask, “Who are we helping today?” and I would answer, “The first one we find that needs it.”

Despite the state of ruination all around us we found it a perfect opportunity to share God’s love with those less fortunate.  God’s love was also on display as not long after, daily busloads of volunteers from Rev. Franklin Graham’s Samaritan’s Purse were in our community helping with whatever was needed.

One thing I noted immediately was that I didn’t see any Democrats or Republicans anywhere; it was just people helping people.

Being from Michigan I had this vision remembering blizzards that left our downtown stranded from snow and how the DPS trucks would push the snow into giant piles wherever they could.  It looked the same here after the storm, only here instead of snow it was piles of white aluminum.

The Category 4 Hurricane left more than 100 Floridians dead in its wake and undoubtedly billions of dollars in damage.  Thousands of homes have been destroyed and a month later, many schools are still closed due to the damage.

Most of the wonderful restaurants we’ve loved on Sanibel and Captiva Islands are gone.  Fort Myers Beach, one of the top three beaches in the world is now completely trashed and looking like a war zone.

Southwest Florida tourism will never be the same as I expect the big bucks of corporate America will take over and completely commercialize its rebuild.

“You know,” Renee began, “You see this kind of devastation on TV from places like Haiti but you never expect to see it out your front window.”

She is so right.  No matter where you go in Southwest Florida there are piles of debris lining the streets from the storm; in addition, people’s misery index has skyrocketed. But, as the old saying goes, “Hope springs eternal.”  We will recover.

I must admit that Renee and I are feeling somewhat guilty that we suffered such little damage compared to so many surrounding us.

And while I’m grateful for that blessing, I must also admit that now I’m somewhat sorry we didn’t stay and ride the storm out like so many neighbors did.  As a writer, I would have loved to have written an ongoing account about how that raging monster chewed and ripped his way through our community.

Then again, after hearing the many first-hand, hair-raising tales of terror from those who did stay, perhaps I also might have been cured from my crazy love of wanting to be up close and personal with Mother Nature’s storms.

But, what do I know.

Tom Treece is a Monroe native and musician. Contact him at rttreece@aol.com.

This article originally appeared on The Monroe News: Hurricane Ian spares Florida home of Monroe's Tom and Renee Treece