Violets for the Soul

On the afternoon of Sunday, July 7, my husband and I, like so many others in the Houston area, were battening down the hatches. Hurricane Beryl was headed our way.

We’d been pretty proactive in the weeks leading up to hurricane season, which began June 1 and ends Nov. 30. We’d checked off the usual to-dos: The flood insurance was updated; the pantry was stocked with bottled water, canned goods and other necessities; we had plenty of batteries, candles, paper plates, sanitizing wipes and the like. We kept our cellphones charged, prescriptions up to date, freezer contents at a minimum and gasoline tanks filled.

As revised weather reports predicted a changed course placing landfall in Galveston, about 50 miles from Houston, we suddenly found ourselves in full hurricane preparation mode. We turned our focus to the outside of our home and began the physically challenging job of moving potential flying missiles – hanging baskets, potted plants, patio furniture and yard art – into the garage and under cover.

But, in my mind, there was one more urgent need, one you won’t find on the National Weather Service’s official checklist.

I couldn’t leave the summer’s tender herbs at the mercy of the Category 1 storm about to barrel through. Remembering the previous May’s derecho and a recent storm that blew down a huge crape myrtle in our back yard as if it were a pawn on a chess board, I grabbed a pair of clippers and ran to harvest what I could, as quickly as I could.

Soon my arms were full of branches of bright green basil. The delicate leaves of Thai, Genovese and Dolce Fresca varieties would be no match for the shredding, bruising winds of a hurricane.

There was no time to harvest much of anything more, so, with apologies to the oregano, rosemary, spearmint, chives, sorrel, winter savory and Mexican mint marigold, I left the rest of the herb garden to face the elements and fend for itself.

Inside, I hurried to process the basil while we had the luxury of electricity, quickly rinsing the freshly cut stems and laying them to dry on kitchen towels. As the fragrant mounds grew higher and higher, the sight was more than a bit daunting. What was I thinking, with a hurricane on its way?

The spring had yielded plenty of pesto, frozen in ice cube trays or on baking sheets and bagged for future use. This time, I decided to dry the herbs in bundles hanging upside down from a copper pot hanger I typically use for this purpose. Soon the yield spilled over to cabinet handles in the kitchen and laundry room and finally – necessity is, after all, the mother of invention – the shower curtain rod in the guest bathroom. The smell of fresh basil permeated the house. I wondered if other gardeners were similarly occupied with last-minute harvests and, like me, feeling comforted by the diversion.

We went to bed that night somewhat anxious over the unknown, though we weren’t overly worried. The last hurricane we’d experienced, Harvey, in August 2017, was a Category 4, we assured ourselves, underestimating the power of the Category 1 storm to come.

Beryl arrived a little after 2 that Monday morning. I listened and prayed as the winds whipped, tree branches cracked and fell, and pinecones dropped like hand grenades onto our roof. At 5:30, I got up to get the coffee going. Just as I pushed the brew button, the power went off. We made do with tea from bags steeped in warm tap water and thanked God that our home and, most important, our family were spared major damage.

By mid-afternoon, Beryl was gone. With shock and sadness, we learned of two deaths within a 10-mile radius and significant property damage throughout our community, including the loss of hundreds of majestic trees uprooted and left sprawling across streets, houses, lawns and backyard pools.

As we dragged several downed tree limbs to the curb, our next-door neighbors asked if we would like to connect to their portable generator. We gratefully accepted and ran a long orange extension cord across our lawn and into a front window to power our refrigerator, sparing us the loss of its entire contents. A power strip afforded us further heretofore under-appreciated amenities such as a working coffee pot and cellphone chargers (though there was no cellphone service at first). We found humor in “living large” as we relished the simple pleasures of cold orange juice, hot coffee and the refreshing breeze of a box fan.

In the ensuing days, amid the confusion and frustration of delayed power restoration and debris pick-up, we recognized this act of generosity on the part of our neighbors as a lifeline and a lifesaver. We were among millions without power post-Beryl, and people throughout the city and outlying areas were struggling to survive in the sweltering heat and humidity of their homes. According to the latest reports I’ve seen, the death toll in the aftermath of Hurricane Beryl has risen to 36.

It’s been more than three weeks since Hurricane Beryl came to town. While some residents endured more than 11 days without electricity (ours returned on Day 7), power has finally been restored to all. Refrigerators and freezers have been cleaned and replenished. Major thoroughfares are passable. The rumbling of generators no longer fills the air. Deliveries – of newspapers, mail and goods – have resumed.

As for the basil, it took a little longer than usual to dry, given the heat and humidity sans air conditioning, but it’s in jars and put away, ready to share and enjoy.

And the rest of the herb garden is as happy as ever.

But to say we’re back to normal is a stretch. One unfortunate family across the street has moved into temporary lodging due to the extensive damage to their home. Neighborhood upon neighborhood resembles a war zone. Piles of debris – sawed-up tree trunks, caved-in fencing, splintered decking – still await pick-up, turning sunlight-deprived front lawns yellow as time goes on. Tree services and contractors are stretched thin as the long process of clean-up and repair continues.

With four months left of hurricane season, news and social media feeds vie for our attention with lists of “top 10 hurricane supplies” and “hurricane must-haves.” But there are key takeways to remember beyond the best Amazon purchases and Instagram life hacks. Yes, we need to buy a generator. And perhaps a solar-powered phone charger or two. But as I see it, the most important asset we can have on hand in times like this can’t be bought with money.

Important as it was to me to save the herbs I’d worked so hard to nurture, I like to think that Hurricane Beryl, with all its destruction and devastation, yielded a different kind of harvest, in our hearts.

That Monday afternoon after Beryl passed through, we welcomed renewed activity as generators kicked in and chainsaws started up on our street. Clean-up commenced as residents of all ages ventured outside to lend a hand, including our teenage neighbor who appeared with a rake and asked if we’d mind if he finished up for us as we called it a day, exhausted.

“I want to help,” he said, as if we were doing him the favor.

The collective effort, no doubt replicated a thousand times over across Beryl’s widespread path, was heartwarming to watch and a blessing to experience.

During those difficult days when we felt we had so little to offer, we experienced priceless gifts of connection, caring and compassion. We felt the mutual gratitude of neighbors helping neighbors. We channeled the collective power of friends and family in action. We realized how very lucky we were just to be alive. We were grateful for each other.

When I look at the neatly labeled jars of newly dried basil in our pantry, I think of that truly abundant harvest, one that can’t – and shouldn’t – be bottled and put on a shelf. And I make note of this timeless “must-have” for any checklist, whatever the season: simply to love and be loved.