This year’s Labor Day weekend was also the twentieth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. The almost 1400 lives that were lost, reduced from the original 1800 estimated in Mississippi and Louisiana, are a reminder that Mother Nature is undefeatable. Realizing that Labor Day is in the middle of prime storm season, it is hard not to recall the hurricanes that have been part of my life since childhood.

Gulf Coast residents may forget their anniversary, Valentine’s Day, or their kids’ birthdays, but they remember the date and where they were when certain storms made landfall. Last week, we saw photos of the devastation that Katrina, which split Dauphin Island in two and affected many properties all along Mobile Bay.

Most interviews I conduct have some hurricane element to the story. My first recollection of a hurricane was when Betsy was on the news in 1965. Betsy made landfall near Grand Isle, Louisiana, and flooded the 9th Ward of New Orleans, and many lives were lost. On August 17, 1969, Hurricane Camille, one of the most powerful hurricanes ever experienced, hit and significantly impacted our area. 

The devastation was unreal. I couldn’t believe how the Mississippi Gulf Coast looked after three weeks, when we were finally allowed to travel again. Ships cast onto land, shrimp boats scattered about the inland areas, and Interstate bridges buckled. Every pier along Mobile Bay was destroyed, including ours. This was my first “wharf rebuild” with everyone in my family pitching in to help.

My dad, a civil engineer, had my brothers and me hugging creosote pilings with a powerful water jet to plumb the crooked pilings. Fortunately, an old pier builder who lived down the road walked up, and saw my father with a transit on a tripod, yelling instructions to us to seat each piling when it was plumb. 

“Mr Hargett, you’re going to kill them boys.” 

“What?” my dad replied. 

“The pilings don’t have to be plumb; just level the support beam across the pilings.”  

I believe that man saved our lives…

On September 12, 1979, Hurricane Frederic made landfall on Dauphin Island with sustained winds of 130 mph, causing widespread devastation. My parents' home in Mobile lost 39 large long-leaf pine trees, most of which were snapped by the wind about 20 feet above the ground. Those left standing were bent forevermore.

A large oak tree fell on my brother’s house, nearly impaling his wife as she sat in her chair while they rode out the storm. Oak trees throughout the city, with their extensive root systems toppled by the storm, left cavernous holes in the ground. 

Hurricane parties, held by people who have never experienced a serious storm and decide to ride it out, tell harrowing tales from the few who lived to tell about it. Now, they will wisely head to the hills at the mention of a brewing storm approaching. The only Hurricane Parties I’ve attended were neighborhood gatherings in the aftermath when we had no power, no air conditioning, and no refrigeration, while we grilled all the food from the freezer that would soon spoil. 

Over the years, we’ve learned to be better prepared. Weather forecasts have come a long way. If, for some reason, your area is spared, you will often hear coastal people say, “We pray it won’t hit us, but we sure do feel for those who aren’t so lucky.” We all know it’s just a matter of time. That’s life on the Gulf Coast.

My memories of growing up on Mobile Bay after a storm are debris fields from piers washed into front yards. Most of the neighbors' wharf boards and structures ended up down the shoreline. You could tell how powerful the storm surge was by how far inland the scattered, broken wharf boards lay. After Katrina, the debris was pushed into the backyard for the first time. It was also the first time the storm surge flooded our house. The only benefit was that it made the walk to pile up the broken lumber on the side of Scenic Highway 98 for FEMA to pick up a bit shorter.

There is a process for cleaning up after a hurricane. Since none of the piers were insured, we scoured the landscape for salvageable lumber that could be reused to rebuild our wharf. Crowbars were standard equipment in every household to extract the 16-penny nails from damaged but serviceable pieces. You could plan on a trip to the local doctor for a tetanus shot after stepping on a rusty nail. It was all part of it.

My brothers and I, along with parents, and later, after my boys were born, aunts, uncles, and cousins, spent days, weeks, and months sorting through the piles, pulling nails, and stacking reusable boards. After experiencing several storms that knocked the pier down, we became quite skilled at rebuilding it. We waited for winter to pass before building back in case another storm came our way.

By Spring, everyone was a wharf builder. Most of these contractors had no idea how to build a decent pier, but demand was high, and the pay was good. Since the cost to rebuild was all out-of-pocket, it made sense to salvage what could be salvaged to reduce building costs. Bent and a bit crooked, this gave the wharves character, and we got pretty good at it.

Fairhope artist Jo Patton is  a “Pier Painter.” Her beautiful watercolor renditions reminded us of all the work that went into getting back on the water, sitting on wooden benches in our outdoor living room under shade, jumping into the bay from the Crab deck, fishing, or lying on our bellies on rainy days with a nylon string with a chicken neck tied at the end, and weighted down with one of those rusty 16-penny nails we had pulled from a salvaged board. We caught a lot of blue crabs that way.

I have one of those Jo Patton paintings, and it reminds me every day of my childhood and life on Mobile Bay. Later, my boys also enjoyed gathering after a storm with family to complete a wharf building project. Every couple of decades, you just had to start from scratch with a totally new pier. It was expensive, but the anticipation of finally reaching the end of the wharf and having a cold beverage while watching the sunset with the bay breezes blowing was worth every 16-penny nail.

It’s curious how I look back on these times so fondly.