My dear husband Roy loves nature, animals and children, but took exception to the bottlebrush tree in our front yard at Homestead Air Force Base. With limited carport space, he had no choice but to park under the tree, which regularly exfoliated its spiky “bristles” all over his car. His chief complaint, though, was that the tree was a magnet.
A squadron of brilliant green wild parakeets, kicking up more ruckus than fighter pilots in the Officers’ club on a Friday night, loved that tree. They made it their dormitory every day—and made themselves comfortable, if you know what I mean. Chattering, guffawing, they must have made bets as to who could dive bomb the windshield directly in the driver’s line of sight. Multiple “bombing runs” ensued, their riotous chatter, no doubt, egging one another on. The loudest chuckling probably was from the braggart who claimed to have nailed “ground zero,” in plain sight from the steering wheel. Daily, the birds almost toppled out of the tree mocking Roy, as he would hastily duck his head and jump behind the wheel to head for work. Down the street he would escape, his windshield washer and wipers spritzing and squeaking in a furious duet.
Then, just like that, the tree was empty. The birds flew off.
That was the same day an entire fleet of mighty F-16 fighter jets, roaring full-throttled, headed due north. After-burners aflame to assist their steep climb, they looked like rockets leaving the base in their smoke. It was a brilliantly blue summer Sunday morning. A perfect day for an entire base evacuation.
By dawn the next day, Monday, August 24, 1992, Hurricane Andrew, a Category 5 storm, wiped clean a thirty-mile wide swath across South Florida. The few trees left were little more than three or four foot splinters. The nearly 200 mile-an-hour winds and storm surge devastated our house. Furnishings, travel souvenirs, photos on the walls, children’s beloved books, almost every thing we owned from our seventeen years as a family, swept away. Our bodies and spirits, however, were left to begin anew.
It was as though God said, “NOW. Do I have your full attention?”
We wiped our eyes, held one another tighter and said, Yes, Lord.” To the Master of the winds and sea, we prayed to seek Him more. It has been a continuing commitment. He has never failed to hold us close. Ever.
Homestead is twenty-seven years in our rearview mirror. After making several other houses “home,” our walls are covered in new photos, new faces of our children’s spouses and our grandchildren. Surrounded by Florida greenery again, we have no bottlebrush trees and no wild, raucous parakeets. We still have each other, a home on a small pond, and are often visited by long-legged herons and cranes. They are quiet fishermen and welcome company. Summer days are winding down; September’s rainy season will come, and we are showered with new mercies, every day.
But, some anniversaries you don’t forget.
And we know that for those who love God, all things work together for the good, for those who are called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28
Behind us, the remains of our home at Homestead Air Force Base, including the infamous bottlebrush tree.