Something Lost. Something Found. Part 2

(Cont., see previous story)

The year was 1992. The month was August. The date was the 24^th. The day was Monday.

Do the words “Hurricane Andrew” mean anything to you? (Well, my friend, they sure do to me).

Though I spent 35 years among four components of the military, (mostly reserve service) I was fortunate to never see combat. I suppose the closest I ever came to it involved stateside service in Homestead, Florida in the aftermath of the most costly hurricane in American history, up to that time, in terms of the physical destruction of property.

I think the thing which struck me first and most about that 20x20 square mile block of homes, condos, trailer parks and businesses was the lack of color. For you see, every (and I do mean every) building had been somehow impacted by the 200+ mph wind gusts of that Category 5 hurricane, and many had been reduced to rubble. And every (and I do mean every) tree, bush, hedge and shrub had been rudely stripped of their leaves. 

Having passed the perimeter which separated the unaffected parts of south Florida from the pathway of the storm, what greeted the eyes of every soldier in the convoy was sheer devastation. And as I have previously inferred, the absence of but four colors: 

White, Brown, Black and Gray

And so much like those biblical passages which allude to the significance of the number “40,” I was privileged, (yes, privileged) to spend 40 days amidst that devastation (August 24, 1992 – October 3, 1992). Privileged since I took from this experience the satisfaction of a job well done; having served the unfortunate people in the southern area of my state; alongside 34,999 of my brothers and sisters in green.

And so unlike our northern parts, it is altogether odd in Florida to witness the absence of foliage on every formerly green thing, and equally odd to watch it all come back again; at once, and before we took our leave from that place.

When I returned from my own unique expedition, I realized the most severe fatigue I’d ever realized, and a few days elapsed before I understood why. 

That God-awful absence of color

And whereas, Shackleton’s experience was macrocosmic in nature, having been marooned in the Antarctic for two years, my own experience had been relatively microcosmic; having served a scant 40 days, and in a more civilized place. And yet, I think it interesting that a common thread is woven into both our stories.

Shackleton had his whistle

The stimulation of one of five senses which had been denied for far too long. 

I had my color 

A stimulus upon which we all depend, but which was altogether absent in the place from which I had only just returned.

Something Lost

Something Found


By William McDonald, PhD. (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 30. Copyright pending

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