Photo by lakerae
When the first hurricane hit Florida, I lay in bed. The day was dark as night. Dark inside, too, since the power had gone out. By noon the winds had come in full fury, east to west, no swirling, and no gusts like normal storms, just a sheer wall of sound, trees bent, not billowing.
Otherwise it was eerily quiet, for there is little electrical activity during hurricanes, unlike the usual cataclysmic thunderstorms that erupt every afternoon. Plant City is far enough inland, maybe 40 miles from the Gulf Coast and even farther from the Atlantic, so the danger was not great.
I did jump onto the floor a few times, crouched between bed and dresser as the huge oak tree curled over my bedroom screamed with broken limbs. After a while I got used to the falling branches; the roof was strong enough to withstand a few thumps.
Photo by ASurroca
I just lay in bed all day, into late evening, the window cracked to better hear the rushing torrents, and let in cooler air.
The power stayed out for two weeks, much longer for some. There was one local restaurant/bar that had a generator, so they reopened the night after the storm. With the summer heat returning and most businesses and schools closed, the only reasonable thing to do was buy a newspaper and head to the bar when they opened at 11 in the morning, driving on twig and leaf littered roads, through intersections left chaotic by deadened traffic lights.
Once at the bar I would order icy mugs of beer – only light domestics available – and pass the time, maybe stare at the TV, or into the void, or gnaw on fried cheese.
By the next Friday another hurricane was bearing down. The bar was sparsely filled now, only the dedicated flies were out, while most stayed at home, lest an early slap of wind knock a tree onto their car, or send a projectile right through their God-fearing face – and to prepare, of course, lighting candles, taping windows, filling bathtubs with emergency water.
Hurricanes came every weekend that August, and with each of Mother Nature’s wolf cries the populace grew more at ease, the numbers at the bar on the eve of storms increased, and the conversation about the nearing storm had the tone of chatting about the local football team. There might even be a bit of an argument, “I think it’s cutting south,” “No, I think it’s going to hook up the coast.”
Photo by Otaku
August ended. The power came back on. Lawns were raked clean.
And nothing changed. Nothing ever changes in Plant City. I left four years ago, after doing 24 years’ time, and when I visit now and then it’s exactly the same. The locals swear that change is constant and it seems to even sadden some, though most are proud of their growth. A new hardware store, a new chain restaurant, a new neighborhood where an orange grove used to be.
In the bars, the waitresses had children at fifteen, the fathers gone from memory by kindergarten. Aging beauty queens sit at round tables, faces frozen, beside their fawning royal court and their fattened quarterbacks and plastic babies. They look the same as in junior high, just a bit softer, smaller, tired, scared. All with eyes as unaware as a doll’s. All laughing on schedule like jack-in-the-boxes. They don’t realize they are barely even the approximation of aristocrats.
At the bar counter the patrons mumble in your ear about the niggers and spics that plague them, as they give you that knowing look, a little grin, because it’s something to bond over: fear and ignorance. It’s a tradition.
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9 Comments... join the discussion!
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Thanks, glad you enjoyed it.
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Beautiful post.
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Thanks
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lovely
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Thanks. I should forward the link to the PC tourism bureau. The strawberries there are amazing.
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Wow that reminds me of my hometown Avon Park about 30 minutes away from there. Its sad people choose to stay in one place thier whole life and never get out and explore. I guess they are afraid of change. Good post
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I am sorry Marcus Crowe has painted such a picture of Plant City. I grew up in Tampa, but I would visit friends in Plant City often. Plant City has really changed over the past twenty years. On the outskirts of town there are many wonderful restaurants such as Carraba;s, Outback, Chili’s, and Applebee’s. There has been much renovation done to the downtown area. It is very charming and quaint and attracts visitors. There are still many old cozy favorite restaurants but many new ones as well. Walden Lake subdivision is home to many and features exquisite homes on lakes or golf courses. Plant City is the Winter Strawberry Capital of the World and each year hosts the Plant City Strawberry Festival.
In regards to the waitresses who bore children at fifteen…Well, this happens everywhere, not only in Plant City. As far as the aging beauty queens, thank God they still look like they did in high school… must say something for the easy living in Plant City.
I moved from Florida for several years and returned in 2000 to live in Plant City. I have lived in larger cities and have seen it all. I have driven 30 minutes in traffic to get to work and only lived 8 miles from my job. I did not like the stress! So, Shane when you say it is sad that people choose to stay in one place their whole life… that may be true for some and that is fine..that is what they want to do.. it is their lives not ours. However, for many Plant City residents, they have moved away, traveled abroad, and returned to Plant City.
Marcus, when you say the patrons mumble racial slurs because of fear and ignorance…again, sadly this happens everywhere.
Please do not judge Plant City until you visit or live here yourself. It is a wonderful place to live and work.
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Whoa, My family moved to Plant City for a year and man I must say it was not my favorite place. We had alligators in our backyard, lightning strikes weekly, and golf balls flying all over the place. My little elementary school went on some crazy field trips though… Disney, EPCOT, Sea-world…
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