“Hurricane Season"

“Hurricane Season”

by Morgan Watts, Soprano with The Crossing

Hurricane season. That stretch of late summer can bring beauty: cooler weather, fall activities, college football, and gorgeous evening sunsets. While this time of year is routinely busy and joyous, it doesn’t stop the looming anxiety for circumstances beyond our control. There is something so tragically beautiful about this season, and in taking part in this project, I saw my own experiences with these natural disasters mirrored in the work of its creative minds. Growing up in southeast Louisiana, I became accustomed to the preparations that take place when a large storm is looming. Before the storm, there are the routine tasks: sitting in the mile-long line at a gas station that (hopefully) has not run out by the time you get to the pump, waiting in extensive checkout lines for non-perishable items like bread and peanut butter, packing valuables, and preparing pets and family. Candles, batteries, food, gas, water. Prayers that the storm will pass us by.

The libretto says it best: stay away from windows and glass, evacuate immediately, and never try to drive through flooding water. Evacuations were always highly suggested, but only truly followed if people had somewhere to go and the ability to get there. During a hit to my hometown a few years ago, my mom’s house was suddenly under a flood warning, and within half an hour we had packed our valuables, pets, and ourselves. By the time we tried to leave, water had already risen to the front door. We had no choice but to wade through the clouded water and, as seen in the lyrics, move to higher ground. I am so grateful damage was minimal and we were safe; a rarity considering the damage previous storms had done.

Then comes the eye of the hurricane, exactly as you imagine it. It truly feels like a disconcerting calm after hours of frightening, howling winds and rain. I remember many times looking out of the kitchen window of my childhood home at what seemed to be an unfamiliar world. Trees, power lines, leaves, and debris covering everything. As the second half of the storm begins, that anxiety remounts as we anticipate worse weather and disastrous storms. After the storm: true catastrophe. Grey skies, debris scattered, water flowing, trees uprooted, and harrowing silence broken only by emergency sirens. No cell phone service. Not having the ability to contact loved ones after hours of uncertainty is truly terrifying, and could last for days, even weeks.

After talking with my family and friends, I came to the conclusion that we shared a common experience marking our lifetime of hurricane seasons: fear of the unknown. The text of this piece, although a 5 minute comparison to lifetimes of varying storms, showcases the rules we followed time and time again, storm after storm. In those uncertain and frightening times throughout my life in Louisiana, these rules gave us what felt like a measure of control against the uncontrollable wrath of mother nature.

Outside of all the very real tragedy a storm brings, there is a silver lining. I vividly remember in the weeks following Hurricane Katrina after being out of school for over a month, seeing the influx of new neighbors who had been displaced by the tragedy of our neighbors in South Shore. The new students and my familiar peers easily became friends and went back into the routine of life as normal, due to these traumatic shared experiences. Community members took it upon themselves to help rescue those trapped in, or on top of, their homes. The infamous Cajun Navy rode in unsafe, muddy waters to deliver goods. In short, in order to survive, we HAD to function as the truest version of community.

Working on this music has reminded me that although these storms can feel wild, and almost out of this world, they are very real. The music and costuming capture something surreal about an experience that, for many of us, is anything but fictional.