No more August trips … maybe

It’s official: I can’t take myself anywhere in late August.

The last week of August, I cover a convention for a national organization, a side job in addition to my newspaper gig. The moment I reach for my luggage, it seems Mother Nature spits out another weather disturbance. In 12 years, I can only recall a handful of disturbance-free jaunts.

I went to Norfolk, Va., in 1999 and Hurricane Floyd sat off the coast, showering us with rain and wind from the feeder bands. As my flight – bumpiest ride I’ve ever been on – took off, the storm struck the Carolina coastline.

In 2004, there was Hurricane Frances. I was in Clearwater, Fla. Fortunately, I made it home in time to see Hurricane Ivan strike the Gulf Coast a couple of weeks later.

A couple of months shy of the annual trek in 2005, Hurricane Dennis shot across the Gulf Coast’s bough. It was a precursor to a behemoth of a storm to come: Katrina. As she grew to a Category 5, pushing walls of water toward the U.S. coast, flights out of town were cancelled – mine among them. My traveling companions ended up covering the conference, watching from Reno, Nev., as Katrina slammed into the coast, forever changing lives. Meanwhile, my family and I joined the endless string of cars lining the interstate in search of a safe place to wait out the storm. Little did we know it would be nearly a year before we would return.

In 2008, I flew into New Orleans just as the mandatory evacuation was ordered in anticipation of Hurricane Gustav. Didn’t even unpack my bags before leading the family out of the area – again.

This trip, thankfully, our homes were unharmed and I was able to return to work without missing a beat. And our editorial team was in place when Ike hit days later.

On the heels of a relatively quiet stretch – sure, there’ve been wanna-be storms, but nothing to leave home over – I boarded a plane headed for Nashville, Tenn., last week.

My 18-year-old was safely tucked away at Nicholls, my parents and my dog in Slidell and it was looking like a good time for a get-away. And then…

After a brief brush with Tampa, Fla., Hurricane Isaac entered the Gulf of Mexico and had the Weather Channel broadcasters freaking out. From the Downtown Hilton, the only news of the storm came from Jim “Lightening Rod” Cantore. Anyone who’s ever tracked a hurricane knows that wherever Jim “The Sky is Falling” Cantore goes, a storm is sure to follow.

So, between sessions, unable to get the T-PT office or my NSU kid on the phone, I’d watch Cantore stand on a New Orleans’ street, waiting for the wind and water. I can tell you the Weather Channel is rarely my first choice for reporting environmental conditions. They can make a sunny day sound ominous. And being tuned in to Cantore and crew made for a very long, nail-biting week.

A feeling of deja vu passed over when I heard of the plight Plaquemines’ residents faced. Ditto when St. John began taking on water. I quickly began to regret ever downplaying the power of a Category 1 storm.

It’s worth mentioning our area, for the most part, survived the storm relatively unscathed. The Tri-Parish Times’ news team, led by Eric Besson, did a commendable job reporting. Kudos to the entire group: Casey Gisclair, Mike Nixon, Claudette Olivier, Alyson Showalter and teammates Celeste Adams, Harold Cancienne, Jennie Childs, Linda Dupre and Publisher Darrin Guidry.

My parents and dog are none the worse for wear after a few days without power. And my kid, she enjoyed Nicholls’ two-day slumber party, complete with games, movies and meals.

I’m home, healing from a case of survivor’s guilt and readying for our next big issue. And I’m thinking about next year’s trip. It’s back to Clearwater.

I hope Mother Nature doesn’t pen it in on her calendar.