My memories of Galveston are mostly of summer trips with the family; they weren't all that frequent, since San Antonio is nearer to the cleaner beaches of Padre Island, and in any case, Texas is a big place, so it was a pretty long drive. But even though the gap between my parents' house and Galveston is over 250 miles -- comparable to the drive from Chicago to St. Louis, and far enough west that they got barely a drop of rain from the storm -- Texas as a whole still feels like home such that a hurricane headed for Houston sets me on edge in a deep way that one headed for Florida does not.
At any rate, I was struck by the photo attached to today's article on the hurricane. Crews are finally making it to the hardest hit, northern end of the island, and this is what they found:
Nobody knows yet how many people tried to ride out the storm there, but of 5,000 or so original residents only about 100 were there after the storm passed. I really hope the rest realized the vulnerability of that peninsula and are safely elsewhere, but I worry that we might never know how many were swept right out to sea.