Y - after the storm

Ah! Dancing. I know there are people who don’t like to dance. However, I personally don’t know many of them. In fact, there is only one of my friends you’ll never find on the dance floor. Let me clarify that. SHE won’t be caught on the dance floor. Most of my female friends are like me. Play music and our feet are twitching. Most of my male friends, however, including my husband need to be dragged onto the dance floor for even the slowest dances, forget about anything with an upbeat.

A few years ago, my friend Karen suggested I join a dance team. She’d heard about it and attended a few sessions, and while she enjoyed each one, admitted that dancing wasn’t what she truly liked to do. She’s more of a craft person. I should add that her crafts are magnificent.

Not knowing what to expect, I walked into the building for my first session. Karen introduced me to the instructor, then made her excuses and left the building.

Our building sat on the south side of the harbor where we enjoyed a beautiful view through our full glass wall. The building comprised of a small kitchen, three restrooms, a storage area for exercise equipment and one large room that was used for dancing and various exercise classes.

The building was also rented out for private parties. While the city owned it, the YMCA has possession. During the summer months, when schools were not in session, with so many parents working, the room was used as a day care center. We had a pull-out room divider to enable the children to occupy one half of the room, while we had the other half.

The structure wasn’t new; in fact, it was quite old and in bad need of repair, but we loved it. It was ours. We met three times a week and danced our hearts out. Our dance team hosted fund-raising parties there. The week before every Mardi Gras and Halloween, we’d gather and decorate appropriately for themed event.

The children who shared our little establishment enjoyed their supervised times away from home and school.

Yes, we enjoyed the times spent there and were proud to tell anyone who would listen that “that’s the place where we hold our dance classes”.

Then, on September 23, a very large tropical storm began to brew in the central Caribbean. At the time, the winds were at a sustained speed of forty miles per hour with gusts reaching fifty. NOAA declared this storm to have the potential of becoming a hurricane. NOAA was right.

Ian was a late bloomer. Normally, we don’t get hurricanes this late in the year, but Ian was of a different mindset. The storm kept getting stronger and larger in size.

By September 28, 2022, Ian was classified as a category FOUR storm with sustained winds of 155-miles per hour – just two miles-an-hour short of being a category five. NOAA also suspected the storm would produce tremendously large tidal surges reaching to approximately eighteen feet in height, one of which would devour Punta Gorda. A surge that size would have put all the houses in my neighborhood completely under water. If we were lucky, you might be able to see the very top peak of our roof.

Many of us evacuated.

Two days later, we returned home to many surprises. Many prefab homes were destroyed. Many like ours, had lanai screen and gutter damage. Most everyone lost their beautiful landscaping.

Then my husband and I drove to the little yellow building where my dance team met three times a week to learn new dances and generally have fun.

My breath caught in my throat. It was difficult to speak. The building was destroyed. Not damaged! Destroyed – like in we have to knock the entire thing down and rebuild.

As the roof was being ripped off the walls, causing the ceiling to collapse, the wind spewed ceiling tiles, fiberglass insulation, and electrical wiring throughout the room. Our lovely glass wall was gone! Completely gone, as were the hurricane shutters that were supposed to protect it. Aluminum gutters and soffits were blown all over the yard, and in the street behind.

Until we could find a place, there would be no more dancing. Wherever we looked, many other venues had their own kinds of damage. We felt disheartened but our instructor kept looking.

Finally, he announced that the main YMCA a few miles away could fit us in their facility. The room we were given was less than half the size of what we had. Plus, the only time slots we could have (due to other exercise classes) were two days a week rather than the three we were used to. We jumped at the opportunity presented to us.

Here we are seven weeks after Ian. Most of the hurricane debris (trees, branches, etc.) have been removed by the county. Those with severe roof damage now sport blue tarps to prevent rain seeping into their houses. For those with enough damage to their lanai screens, they were told there is at least a six-month backup for replacement but at least the damaged aluminum would be removed quickly.

At least we didn’t have the tidal surge that was suspected. However, south of Punta Gorda experienced a surge of approximately six feet; in most cases, not enough to put a home under water, but enough. Some homes saw a six-inch flood in their homes. Thank God, it was only six inches and not six feet.

I asked our Y manager when she thought our little yellow building might be rebuilt. She said it was up to the city, so I emailed our mayor. She said, “Honestly, that’s at the bottom of our things-to-do list. There are way too many other areas that need to come first.”

While I understood and agreed with her list, I still find myself asking, “Y – oh why?”