We can never compare our personal experiences to those of others in the same catastrophic event. Each person’s hell is theirs to relive. We are a small mobile home community within the city of Lakeland, Florida. Bonny Shores, as the name implies, sits on the shores of Lake Bonny. We are a 55+ community. The majority of our residents are in their 70’s. Many are disabled or have difficulty with mobility. Many have invested their entire life savings into, what was supposed to be, their retirement home. For many, it’s the only affordable housing alternative.

I have lived in Florida most of my life, and always in a coastal city. The odds of your home flooding out are very good when you live near the ocean. It’s not a matter of IF it will happen, but WHEN. I lived in the Florida Keys for 25 years and experienced two major hurricanes twelve years apart. They had one thing in common, surge from the sea. In both instances, I saw water in my home. But that’s because I lived right on the ocean.

However, living across the street from a small lake shouldn’t come with the same risk. And yet on October 10, 2024, it did just that.

In the months that preceded hurricane season, my neighbors and I often commented that the lake looked awfully low. In fact, one neighbor, who lives on the lake, said he could walk out to the end of his dock and see the lake’s bottom. However, something happened that summer… or didn’t happen… to change all that.

Beginning in July 2024, normal afternoon thunderstorms were causing the street in front of my house to flood. Normally, once the rain stopped the streets would eventually drain. But not this year. This year I would watch the river go past my house to the lake, but instead of completely draining, it remained stagnant. This caused algae to grow along the bottom of my garden wall and in front of my mailbox, making it slippery and potentially treacherous. Every day I would look out my kitchen window and watch my neighbors down the street walk from their homes to their vehicles wearing boots. The ground next to my house remained constantly flooded. The water reached my ankles in some parts. With every thunderstorm that passed, the street flooded more and more. Then came hurricane Debby. Followed by Helene. And finally, Milton.

The night of the storm, my neighbor came to take my dog out for her usual evening walk. I am disabled and have recently required assistance with walking her. He sounded concerned, though jokingly, that his home might become part of the lake, mind you, he lives right on the lake. I knew he had nowhere to go, so I invited him and his girlfriend to stay with me for the duration of the storm. My modular home is newer and better suited to withstand the high winds. It is also in a higher elevation, and, as I mentioned before, is across the street from the lake. So, they brought their dog and 2 cats and stayed in my spare bedroom… for almost 3 weeks.

When the storm had passed, we were faced with a new enemy, the lake itself. My new housemates and I sat out in my carport and watched the water slowly rise. One neighbor had been parking his vehicle in a driveway across the road from me. His home was among those that were flooding back in July. We watched the water come closer and closer to his tailpipe and almost flooding out his vehicle, before he was able to come and move it closer to the front of the park, which saw no flooding at all. I moved my own vehicle to higher ground as well. We watched the water slowly rise until it engulfed the street and the homes closer to the lake.

My yard saw at least 8 inches of water from the lake because I sit right where the land begins to slope toward the lake. The wall around the front of my yard is only about a foot tall. I probably wouldn’t have seen any water inside, had it not been for the very inconsiderate people who rode fast past my house, only to realize that they could go no further, due to the depth of the lake. Then they would back up just as fast. The wake drove the water right up my driveway and into my lanai, which had just been renovated and sealed. But the water was insidious and found its way, nonetheless. Never expecting to see water in there, I hadn’t brought things into the house that shouldn’t get wet. I still can’t clean it thoroughly, due to mold. I am now highly sensitive and started taking allergy shots twice a week. I require treatment for respiratory distress. I also have had laryngitis since then, more than likely brought on by the mold allergy.

As the days went by, the reality began to set in. We were in it for the long haul. Neighbors docked their kayaks and canoes at my wall and walked the rest of the way to the clubhouse to pick up supplies and food. They brought their trash to the dumpsters the same way. Water, food and cleaning supplies were distributed by the Sheriff’s department, Salvation Army, Red Cross and many other organizations. They came from ministries such as Street Angels, and from from churches as far away as West Virginia. My housemate wore waders on his frequent trips to check his home. He would also pick up our other neighbor’s small dog and take her to the dry ground up by the clubhouse for a potty break.  The water was too deep for her to take a walk around her own yard. He walked my dog as well- all 65lbs. of her.

“Not knowing” is the worst part of any disaster, and we had no idea what had happened, or who to ask for answers. We sat for weeks as the water remained stagnant. Parts of the lake, the bottom part consisting of lily pads and muck, floated by like islands, inhabited by waterfowl and even a small gator. We began to see fish in the water and the herons would perch themselves on the roof of the home across from me and dive into the water after a tasty treat- a lovely sight, if you live on the lake. But I live across the street from the lake. Every day we would watch the waterline of algae form on the skirting of the adjacent homes. I reported daily to my Canadian neighbors on the condition of their home and of the park. They were planning to come and spend their first winter in their newly purchased unit only to find their carport and lanai shredded apart. Another neighbor across the way had evacuated. I sent her daily pictures of the waterline around her home. We used it as a measuring tool.

The water never went down.

It wasn’t until we met our neighbors at a citizens’ meeting at the boat it was organized by them on Facebook and covered by the media. No one, outside of the residents on the lake, heard that we had flooded. Even after the pumps were installed by the Army Corp of Engineers three weeks later, we couldn’t tell if the lake was lowering or just wishful thinking. The pumps, I was later told, were installed only after our district representative contacted the governor. Our local agencies were looking elsewhere, particularly to a car show that was scheduled that weekend. To clear the streets, the water was pumped into the watershed that drained into Lake Bonny, with no consideration that we were already under water.

We were without power, which is common after a storm, but, because the lift pumps in our park were not operational due to the power outage and the high water level, we were advised to drink only bottled water, not to flush, and not to bathe or wash clothes due to the danger of possible sewage contamination. In fact, some homes saw the raw sewage in and around their homes. The smell filled the air on rainy days.

I am disabled, so I couldn’t leave my house without someone holding my hand. So, my housemate would bring my car to the water’s edge so I could drive wherever I needed to go. I would also give rides to anyone who couldn’t move their vehicles, either because they were inoperable, or because doing so would cause them to fill with water. My housemate, ever resourceful, collected pallets, and lumber of different shapes and sizes, and built a makeshift bridge from my carport across the next-door neighbor’s driveway and front yard, which were covered by eight inches of flood water. The bridge made it possible for me to go to and from my home. My car was parked on the dry side of his yard. This was life on the lake for three and a half weeks.

Part of my therapy for depression includes gardening. I pride myself in the planning and dedication I put into my native plant garden. It is a certified natural habitat because it provides shelter, food and water to the local wildlife. In an instant that habitat was under water. Years of planning and planting, and thousands of dollars worth of plants, supplies and man hours were washed away. This was also a lesson learned- not all native plants are flood tolerant.

As the ground dried up and the seasons changed, I watched for signs of new growth. I didn’t want to pull anything out of the ground until I could tell whether it would regrow. The spring bloomers were months away from showing themselves. The garden looked sad. My heart was broken.

  Of course, my story pales in comparison to what my neighbors and friends have endured following the flood. To this day, ten months later, the signs are still there. As I walk or drive through other neighborhood, I still see waterlogged yards, homes in disrepair or uninhabitable. Many on the lake have lost their yards, from several feet to over a hundred. The lake continues to reclaim its domain. Many of my new friends are still unable to go home as they continue to undergo repairs. Those of us who have stayed have watched the lake take a deep breath, like a dragon, every time it rains, waiting to blow the water back over the shoreline and into our homes. And this is only August,one month away from the peak of hurricane season.

  If there is one lesson I’ve learned from having lived through natural disasters, that is, regardless of the community I live in, my neighbors are resilient and compassionate. Total strangers, and mere acquaintances become fast friends we can rely on in a pinch… well after the storm has passed. As we work to pick up the pieces of our lives, we look over and find someone who needs it more than we do. We find ourselves subconsciously looking in on our neighbors. This is how it should be… on a good day. I have made new friends. We have nothing in common, save for the lake. But lately I think of them fondly, like old friends. Because besides the lake, there is everyday life, that we now enjoy sharing with our newfound friends.

Teri Rodriguez

Bonny Shores Mobile Home Community