Katerina

Hurricane season is truly upon us. All of the major news programs and papers have their coverage, their commentaries, their photos and audio recordings. Emergency managers, city planners, insurance companies, and even meteorologists are called in to the talk/radio circuit. All of them are here to talk about one thing of course, Hurricane Katrina.
Katrina was a monster. It might not have made landfall with its previous intensity, but the power and scope of its damage will impact the region for many months.
Even at their weakest, hurricanes are powerful storms. They bring with them powerful winds, tornadoes, and heavy rain. Most frighteningly, the winds pile up water against the coast raising the tides above normal levels to a frightening storm surge crested by strong waves. These combinations make hurricanes a truly scary and serious weather event.

How are they forecasted? What sorts of evacuation decisions are made? What makes hurricanes natural disasters though? And how can we prevent these disasters better? I hope to address, although not necessarily answer, all of these questions.

Hurricanes are predicted like other weather phenomenon. Satellite and aircraft observations measure the intensity and location of the storm. Powerful computer models using physical equations make a prediction as to it’s strength and position. Then, very experienced forecasters at the National Hurricane Center absorb all of this information in their most powerful brain, evaluate it all, and produce an official forecast. It’s a difficult job, but they lay their reputation on the line every six hours, for every storm in the Atlantic and Eastern Pacific.

Once landfall is imminent, what then? Evacuations are made for storm surge only. Once again, computer models calculate the storm surge caused by the expected storm, along with the surge from storms that vary slightly from the expected storm, and come up with an “envelope” of surge calculations. Thus, if the forecast is off slightly, or is slightly stronger than expected, additional people in danger will still be moved to safety. The surge models are very good if the storm forecast is good.

With these surge calculations, emergency managers issue an evacuation. Most people leave. Some do not. Evacuations are costly, scary, and difficult, particularly from a city like New Orleans. This brings me to my next point. Why are hurricanes such disasters? The forecasts aren’t perfect, but they are very good. Surprises are a matter of miles, not a matter of storm or no storm.

Well most of the problem, I think, is demographics. People live where they shouldn’t. Coastal populations have exploded, mostly during times of low hurricane frequency. People live in vulnerable locations that are difficult to leave with only a few causeways or roads in and out. Barrier islands are temporary. They move. They grow and shrink. They erode.

New Orleans is also extremely difficult. High ground is miles away, and escape is only possible on a few roads, with millions of people wanting to use them. Every hurricane season the Big Easy is a disaster waiting to happen. This year, it happened.

So now we reflect. My colleagues have sent emails evaluating the forecasts. They’ll continue to be evaluated. Forecasters will learn what they did wrong and right.
Emergency managers and government officials will learn how to manage the public better and how to communicate more effectively. Were the forecasts made early enough for them to make good decisions? Did the public listen?
City planners will evaluate the levees and the walls. Pass Christian, Biloxi, and other Mississippian cities that were devastated will examine their own city planning. They’ll figure out how to make building codes better, and how to get their citizens to safety faster.

Mostly though, we’ll respond, mourn and rebuild. We are amazing at helping others during crises. The donations will pour in to the Red Cross and the United Way. People will bring in water and food, and offer shelter to those in need. As the death toll rises, we’ll hear stories of hope and sadness. We’ll hear of people who couldn’t afford to leave, or who left too late. We’ll see vivid images of flooding and wind damage in the south, and we’ll know that perhaps a different disaster will bring us on the other side of the camera.
Then, slowly, the damaged cities in towns will rebuild. People will pull their lives together, or start a new one somewhere else. Our country is strong, and it will heal.

Hurricanes can’t be prevented. Their fury reminds us that we are vulnerable to the forces of this planet. All we can do is be better prepared and try to lessen the impacts of the next big storm.

Nechama

Yesterday I volunteered with the organization Nechama. Nechama is a Jewish organization, based in Minesota, that is set up to provide disaster assistance and relief from flash floods and tornadoes (primarily). As you may or may not know, a fairly strong tornado ploughed through Stoughton, Wisconsin: a town about 10 miles south of Madison. Although there was only 1 fatality, there were quite a few injuries and lots of damage.
The relief effort was organized by the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, so there was a bit of drama in allowing the Nechama truck to the relief site at all, but eventually all was resolved and we happily puttered our way to the house that we were assigned.

Trees were down everywhere. A good bit of their roof was ripped off. A van, which I later learned had been turned upside down a few times, looked it had, well, been rolled over by a tornado. Siding, glass, and leaves were everwhere. It was a mess.
But, the dynamic of the relief effort was amazing. 100 or so strangers managed to get to work surprisingly quickly, pulling branches out of the yard, collecting debris from the fields, and throwing away huge quantities of wreckage from the yard.
They even gave in and let the man from Nechama bring out his chainsaws. I was frightened, but he did very well. When we left that afternoon, the yard looked a thousand times better. Their family and friends had arrived, and the cleanup was fully underway.

The amazing thing, I think, was the family hadn't lost their spirits. The father of the household was out with his chainsaw, directing the clean up effort, and keeping a smile on his face. He seemed greatful for the help.

It always amazes me to see the response to disaster. Humans are actually very good at coming together for a crises. People of all ages, from the entire region were at the Stoughton high school volunteering to help. From teenagers in sandals, to fully trained and equipped disaster specialists, they all wanted to show their sense of community. All of us know that a different twist of a butterfly's wings could have brought the tornado over our house rather than over the houses it did strike.

Last week I was dealing with an infestation of fruit flies. They had come in attacking a peach pit I had foolishly left on my kitchen counter. The next day they were swarming. I panicked a bit. I freaked. I cleaned everything in site. I complained to all of my friends because a relatively harmless insect had invaded my apartment. When I stood in front of the house and yard the tornado had plowed through, I realized how silly my problem is. The fruit flies are nearly gone. Their house is still, most likely, incomplete. But their spirit is strong

Mustard in a small town

Yesterday I left the psuedo-cosmopolitan world of Madison, Wisconsin and ventured away to the scenic small town of Mt. Horeb. You have to bring your passport, hide your democratic party registration forms, and purchase a hunting rifle before they let you leave, but it is well worth the trip.

Why did we make this venture? Well, yesterday was National Mustard Day., so we were off to the National Mustard Day Festival at Mt. Horeb's infamous mustard museum.

What goes on at a mustard festival? Well, you can play all sorts of mustard games like wheel of mustard, and mustard ring toss. The prizes? Well, you guessed it: mustard. You can make mustard painting. They give away free hot dogs (with optional ketchup for $10.00). And of course, you can wander through the Mustard Store, I mean, museum, and sample and buy mustard.

This year, there was another reason to go. A friend of mine had entered a recipe for mustard-battered mushrooms and cheese curds into their mustard cook-off competition. She placed a respectable 5th (out of 10), and it earned her a $20 gift certificate to the museum. That can go quite quickly, suprisingly enough.

I find these small town events amazing. Yes it kitsch. Yes, from an outsider perspective, it's a big scary. But, it's an excuse for people to gather together and be a bit goofy.
Small villages in the UK had similar events. The Village of Ottery St. Mary has a burning tar barrel celebration close Guy Fawkes day. Yes, people fill up the streets in this small village, often well-liqured up, and watch people in burning tar barrels run through the streets. This event, a bit more disturbing than mustard, still had those elements of community.
I've never wanted to live in a small town. I'm a city boy at heart. I love being able to walk outside my apartment, down to a coffee place, around the corner to a movie theatre, and then to a restaurant for a quick take out meal. I love the variety and diversity in most american cities. But, there is definitely a place for a small, closely knit community. I can at least see the comfort in that lifestyle, and appreciate it's charm and strength. I just sometimes need a reason to go out and see it.