PORT CHARLOTTE, Fla. – Marilyn Gladish spent Friday picking trash from the wet goo that had accumulated on her front lawn while workers power washed mud that had infiltrated her ground-floor garage. But the 83-year-old’s home — built high up on pilings — wasn’t damaged. Everything inside, from furniture to a lifetime of keepsakes, was clean and dry.
Gregg Wood, whose home was just around the corner, didn’t fare so well. Virtually every piece of furniture and every appliance in his home was destroyed. The walls were soggy. The wood floor, drenched and muddy, had to be torn up. Surveying the roof, Wood, 59, put on a brave face, but worried it that it too had to be rebuilt.
Less than two days after Hurricane Milton pushed an almost nine-foot-deep wall of water through their Oak Park neighborhood in Port Charlotte, the few dozen homes on or near Ganyard Street — which sits only a few hundred feet from Charlotte Harbor — stood out as a stark example of the benefits of building to higher, which is now code in this neighborhood for new construction.
It starts with staggering difference in insurance costs.
Gladish says she only pays $1,888 a year for homeowners insurance and another $350 for flood insurance for her three-bedroom, two-bathroom, two-story home that she built from scratch seven years ago. Wood said he spends $4,600 a year on insurance for the two-bedroom, two-bathroom, single-story home that he bought eight years ago.
And because he chose to pass on an annual $12,000 for federal flood insurance — he had the choice because he has no mortgage — Wood now said he expects to spend tens of thousands of dollars out of pocket for fixes needed after Hurricane Milton and Hurricane Helene, which struck just two weeks earlier.
On Friday, Wood was contemplating a major life decision — staying or going. Gladish was thinking about having her two kids, three grandchildren and five great-grandchildren over for dinner.
“I really love this area, this place. But it’s an incredible amount of work,” said Wood, whose home was for sale before Milton struck and said his immediate plan was to rehab it and rent to a friend who needs a place to live. “I’ve got to think I’m probably not going to be near the water again.”
Said Gladish: “When I bought this house the county said I had to raise it. I didn’t know. But I’ll tell ya, I’m darn glad. I might have to go up 19 steps every time to get into my house, but you know what, it keeps me in shape.”
Only 36 hours after Hurricane Milton came ashore almost 50 miles north at Siesta Key, most of Ganyard, a small street on the northeast corner of the harbor with only seven homes, was a soggy mess. One home was missing windows and its interior was filled with palm fronds and mud and broken appliances.
Across the little street was another single-story home with Ford Explorer pushed into an exterior wall of the home from the powerful rush of the water. A basketball net hung by a string from a tree. Garbage was piled everywhere. Piles were filled with microwaves, fans and televisions. Personal items, including a doll set, picture frames and CDs, littered yards and the street.
Of all the homes on Ganyard Street, only Gladish’s and another elevated one three doors down seemed to survive with little damage from the storm. Both had been built over 13-foot-high garages with columns underneath the homes, as the current code demands, said Gladish’s grandson James Kirby, 38, a licensed contractor.
Still, the tough building standards weren’t enough to save a blue, $350,000 McLaren 720S sports car that was parked half on the road in front of the other home built up on columns. Its wheels were sunk into the mud and the interior was full of sand and seawater. Tow-truck driver Eddie Cruz, who came to take it away, said it was probably a total loss.
The advantage of height was evident just across the street on a property that was now uninhabitable. There, on the far side of a mud-filled lawn were five canoes, resting upside down on a rack six feet above the ground. It appeared as if none of them had budged during the storm.
The neighborhood, which for decades was little more than fishing shacks, had become rundown. But it had recently been undergoing a revitalization, Gladish and Kirby, her grandson, said. Gladish — the street’s only property owner who was home on Friday — was able to get a relatively low insurance rate because she built to the new code, her grandson said. It added $100,000 to the initial cost but also sharply reduced the cost of flood insurance, even though it wasn’t required with the elevation. Her grandson said it was a reasonable price to pay to live in such comfortable surroundings.
“It’s salt life, man,” he said. “Within five minutes you can be at five different boat ramps. The seafood is always fresh. The atmosphere is laid back. It’s island life.”
Meanwhile, just around the corner, Wood said he had struggled with his decision not to shell out $1,000 a month for flood insurance. He said both Helene and Milton had arrived at high tide, adding to the flooding. But even looking around at the wet mess, he said it wouldn’t have been cost-effective for a home that he rents out more than half the year.
“All in after both storms it’ll probably cost me $60,000. And that’s if the roof is good. If not, Citizens won’t pay,” Wood, a semi-retired West Virginian, said about state-run Citizens Property Insurance. “I think I’m into the acceptance stage now. I’m stunned. Two strikes, back-to-back. It’s just bad luck.”
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