At 9 a.m. on Thursday, Marshall Shepherd, a meteorologist from the University of Georgia, sent a tweet to fellow residents.
“Georgia … The rain yesterday and today is NOT the hurricane. That comes late tonight into Friday morning and that was ALWAYS the forecast … That’s it, that’s the post.”
I met Shepherd years ago when I was an environment reporter, and we talked many times about climate change. This isn’t a man who is easily agitated but I could sense the exasperation in his words directed at anyone insistent on believing that Hurricane Helene was just a lot of hype.
Years ago, I was that type of Georgian — a nonnative from the Midwest who thought I was tougher than any weather Georgia could throw at me.
Georgia had the heat, I thought, but I had lived through blizzards!
I had walked through snow drifts twice my height. I survived a spin out into oncoming traffic on Chicago’s icy lakefront highway. And don’t get me started on tornadoes. Give me a cozy spot in a windowless bathroom or basement and I could sleep right through one.
When I first moved to Georgia almost 20 years ago, I smirked when locals cleared store shelves and hunkered down in anticipation of bad weather, but lately it seems the joke is on me. Increasingly, the weather in Georgia and the southeast makes states near the Great Lakes look like a climatological paradise.
This summer, heat indexes across the south — in southeast Alabama, Florida’s Panhandle and South Georgia — reached 111 degrees and in the future that could regularly exceed 130 degrees, according to climate models.
While hurricanes may or may not increase in number, they have already increased in intensity and they travel at slower speeds leaving more damage in their wake, say climate scientists. Marshall noted that hurricane conditions are flowing into inland areas more frequently rather than only impacting coastal areas.
So I understand why Marshall sounds frustrated when people question the forecasting of climate scientists. It is difficult to give accurate messaging when competing with rampant cynicism, complacency and optimism bias, he said. “I urge everyone in potentially affected regions to resist the urge to ignore these warnings or view them as hype,” Marshall wrote Wednesday in a column for Forbes Magazine.
Weather events are changing in Georgia and the southeast and our attitudes about them must change as well. I learned this the hard way.
Several climate scientists have compared Hurricane Helene to Hurricane Irma in 2017. That was the last time metro Atlanta sustained tropical storm winds bringing power outages and fallen trees to areas that generally avoid a hurricane’s wrath.
As soon as I heard the comparisons to Hurricane Irma, I understood what was coming.
In the spring of 2017, I had just moved into my new home in southeast Atlanta. A few months later, on Sept. 11, Hurricane season brought Irma to my door. I had listened to weather forecasts and while I was concerned, I wasn’t convinced I needed to do much more than locate a flashlight and batteries.
Weaving through the aisles of Target, I tossed random items into my cart. Then I ran into my neighbors. We laughed that we were buying junk food and wine, then the conversation turned serious.
“Hey, I think that tree may come down,” my neighbor Mary said.
She was talking about the giant oak tree between their front yard and my driveway. On the outside, the tree, which I secretly named Bessie, was worn and weary but still stood high above our homes shielding us from summer’s heat.
Mary offered to let me park my car in their driveway just in case. I declined.
We parted ways and went home to wait.
My daughter and I were sitting in the living room listening to music and playing a game when we noticed the wind and rain had grown stronger. About 15 minutes later, we heard a rumbling sound, like a dozen Hurby Curbies blowing down the street. We ran to the window, certain that someone had lost their trash cans in the wind.
All we saw was a thick curtain of branches and leaves stretched across the driveway and the front lawn. Mary’s warnings had been prophetic.
Bessie looked strong on the outside, but inside she was hollow and her weakened trunk couldn’t withstand the 65 mph winds Irma threw her way. Bessie’s limbs were tangled in the power lines and she hit the ground with enough force to knock the water line loose as well.
We did not have electricity. We did not have water. My car was totaled and my daughter was in tears. Despite fair warnings from meteorologists and my neighbor, I had been caught off guard.
Neighbors streamed outside to help. They called the police and the power company and offered us shelter until the storm ended. The next 48 hours were a blur.
It would take weeks for me to get everything straightened out — insurance claims, tree removal, new plumbing, a massive water bill — but I was grateful that we hadn’t suffered more damage and loss.
I have empathy for anyone who suffers the devastating impact of a hurricane. My own experience taught me always to heed the lessons of history and the knowledge of people who know more about these things than I do.
Read more on the Real Life blog (www.ajc.com/opinion/real-life-blog/) and find Nedra on Facebook (www.facebook.com/AJCRealLifeColumn) and X (@nrhoneajc) or email her at nedra.rhone@ajc.com.
About the Author
