The Panhandle made history,

So we heard in the news,

But not quite the type

We ever would choose.


There was wind, call it wicked

Or however you’d say,

And I suspect some tornadoes

Also got in the way.


I left with the animals

Quite hesitant that day

I headed towards Georgia

But really wanted to stay.


So many hunkered down tight

Not to be chased far away,

And others who’d seen such

Got down to pray.


Hundred-year-old trees

Were all strewn about

Like my childhood pick-up sticks

And the wind wicked did shout.


And when it was over

And the toll took its mount,

Shops and eateries were flooded

And marsh debris strewn about.


But sure as we’d figure

The people came out

Helping one’s neighbors

And the Town turned about.


There were Church and business folk

Young kids and the old,

Nobody needed asking

Nor anyone be told.


Knocking on doors

And walking up streets

All asking “how’d you do?”

To anyone they did meet.



Groups gathered in prayer

Then with shovel and rakes,

Or saws and big cat claws

They all did what it takes.


Some lost sheds and homes,

So many lost trees,

Did whatever it took,

Thanked the Lord on their knees.


What happens next

With the oysters and fish,

Nature will tell us

But this is our wish:


May we still gather together,

Build reefs as we need,

Slowly build it back upward

And with love plant new seeds.


Yes it sure takes a village

And this one is tough,

Whether high in its glory

Or in trials ever so rough.


 - Melicent Remy