My experience with riding out Hurricane Rita in September 2005 led to the writing of this chapter. I was in charge of a camp full of 300 evacuees on the night Rita moved in from the Gulf. Even though Dry Creek is nearly 100 miles inland, the storm was fierce. Just like Mayo and his family, the storm during the night only seemed to intensify the feeling of dread and destruction.
This "Landmark Pine" on the Longville Gravel Pit road lost limbs during Hurricane Rita but still stands tall and proud. It is symbolic of the family strength of the Moore family during the hurricane and in the hard days and years that followed.
I'll never forget driving through our community the next morning and viewing the destruction: leaves and debris piled on the roads, downed trees and power lines everywhere. It is still something that folks in our neck of the woods discuss often. A true life changing event.
I thought about the surprise of a hurricane in the 19th century. No way to know that the first raindrops and wind are part of a destructive storm moving inland.
Two surprise storms have always intrigued me. The Galveston Texas storm of 1900 killed over 6000 people on the island. The legend tells of a doctor who drove up and down the crowded beaches in his carriage, warning of a coming storm. (He had a barometer and knew from the steady drop in air pressure that a storm was afoot.)
In 1918 a surprise storm blew in over SW Louisiana taking probably the same path as our fictitious 1852 storm does in A Good Place. The 1918 storm destroyed Lake Charles as well as a nearby Army Air Base. Dry Creek historian Frank Miller related of the miles of virgin longleaf pine laid flat by the hurricane. (This was the decade before all of the pines were cut in the timber boom that changed the face of our area.)
Even though it wasn't a total surprise, Hurricane Audry (June 1957) intensified quickly and sped up as it came ashore, trapping thousands of people in Cameron Parish, south of Lake Charles. Hundreds died and it still affects the psyche of folks in South Louisiana. I have many friends whose families lost loved ones in Audry.
I was one year old when Audry hit and my mother evacuated (with me) to Shreveport. Daddy stayed in Dry Creek and rode it out at the Old House. He said the eye of the storm came over that day and the skies cleared before the storm resumed. That's where I get the part of Chapter 1 where the storm calms before catching Mayo in the open.
The Old House, built in 1892, has been through all of the storms mentioned above. The log room shifted during Audry and this resulted in the floor being slanted to this day.
The Old House in Dry Creek circa 1892. It's where I write and dream and is the most precious piece of real estate on earth for me. Built by my great great grandparents when they homesteaded this land, it still belongs to our family. One of my joys is showing readers around this special house. You're welcome to a tour if you're in the Dry Creek area.
The log room in Chapter 1 of A Good Place is patterned after the log chimney room shown in the picture..
The fun of writing fiction is taking true stories and weaving them into a narrative. It's what I do and what I enjoy.
Did a hurricane really occur in 1862? To my knowledge and research, there is no record of an actual storm in August 1862. Newspaper records from that time are very sketchy, especially about western Louisiana which was still literally a "No Man's Land."
Thoughts on historical accuracy- In writing historical fiction, I strive to be accurate and relevant. This doesn't mean that every event happened when mentioned. It means that it could have and if it did, this is how it would have been.
I will confess to one part of the hurricane that is inaccurate (on purpose) It's lightning. In spite of the ferocity of hurricanes, they don't feature lightning and thunder. I have studied this as well as experienced it. (Rita, Gustav, and Ike are all recent storms that affected our area. None had lightning or thunder.)
However, for the dramatic effect of the storm hitting Ten Mile Community at night, I included lightning. The main sound I recall from Rita was the sound and crash of trees falling. It is a a feeling not easily forgotten!
I tried to blend the thunder of the storm, crashing of the trees, howling of the wind, and imagery of distant cannons of war into an audio setting to carry the reader into that one room log cabin under the table with Joe and Eliza, Mayo, Colleen, and a dog named Bo.
Your comments on chapter one and the storm are welcome.
Readers: How you can help.
Part of the joy of writing is working with friends and readers to improve our stories.
I need your help on the name of one character.
Curt Iles' new novel, A Good Place, follows the story of Joe and Eliza Moore. Moving ahead ten years from their story in The Wayfaring Stranger, the new novel tells of the Moore family's challenges during the difficult Civil War years.
Set in Louisiana's No Man's Land, A Good Place, is narrated by Mayo Moore, oldest child of the couple.
The theme of the book is simple yet timely: Families stick together through the storms.
Coming soon: You'll be able to view the video book trailer for A Good Place.
To read sample chapters, scroll down.
As in all of Curt's novels, he has collected a sound track of the songs that influenced the writing of this book.
“Now I don’t mind choppin’ wood,
And I don’t care that the money’s no good.
You take what you need and leave the rest,
But they should never have taken the very best.”
-J.R. Robertson
“The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.”
When Daddy shoved me under our kitchen table, I knew this wasn’t just any storm—it had to be a hurricane.
As the crow flies, our Louisiana log cabin was about a hundred miles from the Gulf of Mexico. When this day quietly began, we had no idea a hurricane was churning ashore. However, here we were, less than twelve hours later, riding it out under the table in the dark.
Watching Momma vainly trying to keep the lantern lit, a knot of fear as big as a turnip grew in my stomach, and when I swallowed, it lodged in my throat.
Giving up on the lantern, she turned to Daddy. “This ain’t no normal August thunderstorm. Do you think . . .?”
It was as if she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say the word. In her eyes was something I’d never seen—a look of raw fear. Her trembling hand on my knee reinforced the depth of this fear. Momma’s obvious alarm moved Daddy into action as he said, “This has got to be a hurricane.” Crawling from under the table, he said to her, “Eliza, get the windows covered best you can.” Then he grabbed me, “Mayo, come with me, and we’ll get the animals in.”
On that August day in 1862, I was only twelve and didn’t have enough sense to realize the danger outside, so I eagerly joined him, ready to venture out into the storm.
As soon as we cleared the lee of the house, the wind whipped us, tearing Daddy’s hat right off his head. He didn’t even look back, but ran on toward the barn, the lightning outlining his silhouette with each strike. Reaching the building, he pushed me inside. “Pen the animals. Put hay in their troughs.”
He hurried out, leaving me in the building’s darkness with only the whimpering animals. I tried calming them—something I’m normally good at—but it was futile. I found our horse, Dallas, and stroked his mane. He was shaking just like Momma, maybe like me, sensing something evil was blowing in the wind.
Daddy stuck his head in, “Hurry, it ain’t safe. Let’s git.” Hunkered down, we ran by our outbuildings, stopping only to bolt the smokehouse and the adjacent kitchen.
I stood under the covered walkway that connected our kitchen and house, holding onto a post. With my other hand, I covered my head as debris whizzed by.
A flying object hit Daddy square in the back. He stumbled before turning to me. “Whoa. Let’s go.” Scampering onto the porch, I heard the first tree fall, shaking both the house and my heart.
As we went through the door, my leopard cur dog, Bo, brushed past and went straight under the table with my mother and sister. Momma, who was in the family way, squatted on the dirt floor, still fiddling with the lantern.
“There ain’t no use fooling with that.” Daddy said. “There’s too much wind blowing through the cracks for it to stay lit.”
Holding out the cypress shingle that’d struck him in the back, he knelt by Momma. Grimacing and rubbing his back, he handed it to her. “It’s bad out there.”
I glanced up at our roof, wondering if it’d hold together.
“Honey, are—are you all right?” She asked.
Before he could answer, another crashing tree jarred our house and my younger sister Colleen cried, “Daddy, wh—what’s happening? Is this the war?”
Colleen, half my age, had an ongoing fear that the War Between the States would come and kill us all. From the stories she’d heard, she was sure its cannons had finally reached our area of western Louisiana.
Another crashing tree, this one even closer, caused her to scream. “It’s a big gun.”
“No, child that was a tree falling.” Momma said as she turned to watch Daddy, who was at the window peering out. My eyes were on him too, and I knew one thing: my father would get us through this.
“Eliza, kids, listen to me.”
With the shrieking wind and flying objects striking the house, we leaned closer, our ears and hearts focused on him.
When Daddy spoke, his voice drowned out all of those noises. “Now, this has gotta be a hurricane. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but we’re gonna be all right 'cause we’re together. We’ll trust the Lord to get us through this. This may’ve caught us flat-footed, but we’ll git through it together.”
We’ll get through it together. That was all I needed to hear.
“Daddy, is our house gonna blow away?” Colleen asked.
Before he could answer, Momma pulled my sister into her arms, “Baby, this house was built ‘horse high, bull tough, and pig tight,’ by your daddy, and will stand up to anything any storm throws at it.”
Colleen nervously burst out giggling at Momma’s saying, and that caused us all to laugh in spite of our predicament.
However, Momma’s smile soon faltered and faded as the storm continued. “I feel—I feel so helpless.” She pulled Colleen closer to her and they both began crying.
Daddy repeated. “We’ll get through this together. Together, we can do it.”
And I knew he was right. .
Sitting under the table as the wind roared, it was hard to believe this day had started so quietly.
Looking back over it, we missed several obvious omens.
#
It began early that morning when Daddy met me at the barn and said, “Listen.”
“To what?”
“It’s too quiet. Not even the crickets are chirping.”
Later as daylight appeared, he nodded toward the rising sun. “Chomh deargle le fuil: Red as blood. Look at it—where I grew up along the Irish coast, the sailors said, ‘Red sun at night—sailor’s delight. Red sun at mornin’—sailor take warnin.’”
Shrugging his shoulders as he sniffed the air, he added, “It even smells funny. Gives me the doggone willies.”
As we returned to the house for breakfast, I’d noticed Bo under the steps. He wouldn’t come out even when I whistled and hollered, “Hunt ‘em up, Bo.”
By midday, the morning’s clear weather was long gone—replaced by dark clouds rushing northward, followed by bands of wind-driven rain. Darkness came early, and then the storm really cut loose, driving the rain through the cracks around the door and in the walls.
Here we were, after a clear sunrise and promising day, four of us huddled under the table with a terrified dog, all fearful that our whole life was being blown away.
From time to time, Daddy crawled out and checked at the window. Watching him there, the flashes of lightning revealed the lines of worry on his face.
Daddy had come to Louisiana’s “No Man’s Land,” fourteen years ago as a lonely Irish teenager. Here he’d met and married my mother, who was part Indian, and made these piney woods his home. He loved its clear creeks, tall trees, and the freedom it offered—and ‘til the day he died, called it “A good place to be.”
Watching him, I wondered, I doubt if he thinks of it as a good place right now. Another crash outside jolted the house and he said, “Hey. There went another tree.”
“Joe, get back under here with us.” Momma said and he obeyed, scampering back under.
It wasn’t ten seconds later that a huge tree smashed through the cabin wall. As wood splintered and contents of the shelves crashed to the floor, we hunkered down together under the table.
“Lord, have mercy. It’s the end of the world.” Momma said.
Reaching out in the dark, I grasped a tree limb, and thought, It may not be the end of the world, but it’s gonna be a long night.
We'll be adding chapters and sections as time goes on.Your comments and input are always welcome.
I am country... and proud of it.
My favorite "I" words are integrity, influence, and investment.
My favorite words are compassion, compelled, passion, humor, and hospitality
This "Landmark Pine" on the Longville Gravel Pit road lost limbs during Hurricane Rita but still stands tall and proud. It is symbolic of the family strength of the Moore family during the hurricane and in the hard days and years that followed.
The Old House in Dry Creek circa 1892. It's where I write and dream and is the most precious piece of real estate on earth for me. Built by my great great grandparents when they homesteaded this land, it still belongs to our family. One of my joys is showing readers around this special house. You're welcome to a tour if you're in the Dry Creek area.
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