Crawling Through the Wreckage of Ida

The wreckage in my garage after Hurricane Ida (bicycle at the bottom)

I lost track at 40. When I ran out of recycling bags to fill, I trudged to the drugstore and bought two more containers.

Hurricane Ida swept through my garage, which is on a downward slope from the street. The ferocity of the storm knocked a ladder off wall hooks, swirled plastic tubs of clothing and DVDs around my car, and eviscerated dozens of cardboard storage boxes.

The hurricane also destroyed my landlady’s washer and dryer, as the waist-deep waters ravaged her basement.

“Condemned,” said the repairman, using his flashlight to trace the debris line on the screen door inside to the machines, where it clearly went over the motors.

“But the dryer is still working properly,” I replied. “And they’re only five years old.”

“I don’t care if these machines were delivered yesterday morning,” he remarked sardonically. “Once the water reaches the electrical systems, they are condemned.“

Those words turned out to be prophetic, though I didn’t know it at the time. Standing there in soggy sandals, trying to make sense from chaos, my primary concern was lifting the weight from a crushed bicycle.

I started the cleanup wearing workman’s gloves. Within minutes, they became encrusted with dirty water and offered more aggravation than…