The Sunshine State of the Union

I used to watch The Day After Tomorrow as a teen in St. Pete and laugh. It’s not that I didn’t find the scenes of the icy water rising in the streets of New York City exciting, even frightening. It was the ridiculous premise: sudden overwhelming destruction of our world because of climate change. It wasn’t a believable plot. It couldn’t happen.

Living about twenty minutes from St. Pete Beach, I grew up around water and understood its power. The Florida beaches were my school. I learned our history through the fossils and megalodon teeth Frankie and I found in Manasota Key and Peace River. I snorkeled through the underwater fort at Egmont Key. Frankie, who went on to study geology at UF, even went scuba diving in our trails of freshwater aquifers. I understood that water levels rise and our landscape changes, especially in sandy Florida. Our limestone peninsula looked different with each hurricane and major tropical storm.

And, of course, I’d read the theories and watched the debates on climate change. My teacher showed us a video on YouTube of a graphic Florida map. Its shorelines receded until it was little more than Disney World and UF on a thin strip of land protruding from Georgia. My mother told us of a doomsday prophet who saw visions of Florida after a tidal wave. I was intrigued, but once again thought it was a ridiculous hypothesis. Florida had always had a changing shoreline, thus why we found shark teeth in the rivers of Central Florida, but without a huge meteorite causing a tsunami, those days were over.

Until they weren’t.

It wasn’t sudden. It didn’t happen overnight. I think we were all so numb by the craziness of those years with the pandemics and political coup that the prophets of climate change were silenced without notice. Science itself was questioned, debunked, nearly erased. With the overthrow of our revered democracy also came the demise of freedom of speech and unbiased media. Ok, I’m aware that the media has never been unbiased, but at least in my youth there were choices.

The summer temps grew unbearable. July through September saw record-breaking highs. I remember the summer nearly nine-hundred people in the South, mostly elderly, died from the heat. The gulf temperature also grew warmer feeding tropical storms until they became major hurricanes nearly overnight. When Key West and parts of Miami were destroyed, developers fought a lost battle to rebuild. Someone said that water remembers where it was and will return every chance it gets.

Even without a storm, the rise of the gulf was obviously visible. First it was the loss of our small outer islands and the beachfront condos—an inconvenience for our tourism and a hit to our economy, but not permanent we were told. I remember when they closed Fort DeSoto and Honeymoon Island to make “necessary repairs.” I crossed the Gandy Bridge just a few weeks or so before it was also closed for repairs.

With the ban of all recording devices and social media after the riots, what we saw was censored and what we knew was questioned. At times I even questioned my own memory. Was the Skyway bridge still open the year Mom died? I know my cousin Hal couldn’t come up from Sarasota for some reason. Had Gene and I moved to Lake City before or after Frankie and his crew were arrested for diving near what was once Tropicana Field? Wasn’t the Orlando International airport closed after Hurricane Beta in ‘32 or was it after the big hurricane of ‘33? I can’t keep it all straight.

Moving to Lake City was one of the smartest decisions we made. We bought an acre, planted a few vegetables, got a half dozen chickens and ordered a small house. The pond helped supply irrigation to the garden and gave relief from the daily heat. It was our little piece of paradise away from most problems. For the first four years there, Gene repaired equipment for locals, and I made lavender and herb soap to sell at the market. We followed the rules and minded our own business, trusting few.

Electricity became spotty at best, but when it was on, we took advantage of its sweet gifts. Our baths were warm. The beer was cold. We danced as I hummed our favorite songs. We played memory games. Who could remember all the words to a Chris Stapleton song? Who could name all fifty-three states of the union? And we’d reminisce about our childhoods, our families, our relationship. Gene repaired a discarded floor fan and its cool breeze made our nights more pleasant. There were these bubbles of normalcy, moments so pure and comfortable, that we nearly forgot our reality for those few hours or days. Then, with a flicker of warning, the lights went out, the fan slowed to a stop, and misery resumed.

The abnormal became almost normal. We lived in fear—fear of whoever was in charge, fear of the weather, fear of losing our health, fear of strangers. But mostly we feared losing each other. We kept our vaccines up to date and our guns loaded. Everyone was armed so no one was safe.

It was during the bad drought of ‘38 that hunger was as common as the trespassers. It was a mix of that foreign flu and simple starvation that spread like wildfire that spring, killing thousands in its path. Gene heard rumors of more food and possibly even jobs just north of Athens, Georgia, so in November we left our little home and joined a few others on the long walk.

“This reminds me of old photos after the first Civil War,” Gene said, ‘when Sherman and his troops burned everything. I remember studying those photos in our American History class at high school and wondering how our nation ever got in such bad shape.”

“Look at us now,” I replied weakly, waving my hand out at the barrenness.

The land was parched. Buildings were deteriorating from simple lack of upkeep. There hadn’t been lumber or fuel available to most for several years. The recent pandemic had wiped out most leaders in the 3rd Party Reform (3PR) at our newest capital in Oklahoma City. 3PR somehow gained control in the election of 2032, which was more a coup than true election. They promised Pride, Protection and Preeminence and to be honest, I think we all were a little hopeful that new blood and new money could turn our nation around. But it was too late. Pandemics, climate changes, global starvation and political unrest had brought us to this avoidable end. Our once great nation was destroyed not by North Korea or alien invaders as we had been warned. Its demise was from within, our own division.

"Dwelling on the past won't help your current situation." As my mom always said, “It is what it is.” We were hungry. Weary. But we had each other. I clutched the silver heart locket Gene had given me on our first Christmas together in ‘19. He would often kiss the locket and whisper how it held all the hopes and dreams of young love. It was memories and moments like these that sustained me, gave me the strength for one more day. I reached for his hand and we continued our journey.