HORSESHOE BEACH, Fla. (AP) 鈥� It was just a month ago that Brooke Hiers left the state-issued emergency trailer where her family had lived since slammed into her Gulf Coast fishing village of in August 2023.
Hiers and her husband Clint were still finishing the electrical work in the home they painstakingly rebuilt themselves, wiping out Clint鈥檚 savings to do so. They never will finish that wiring job.
blew their newly renovated home off its four foot-high pilings, sending it floating into the neighbor鈥檚 yard next door.
鈥淵ou always think, 鈥極h, there鈥檚 no way it can happen again鈥�,鈥� Hiers said. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 know if anybody鈥檚 ever experienced this in the history of hurricanes.鈥�
For the third time in 13 months, this windswept stretch of Florida鈥檚 Big Bend took a direct hit from a hurricane 鈥� a one-two-three punch to a 50-mile (80-kilometer) sliver of the state鈥檚 more than 8,400 miles (13,500 kilometers) of coastline, first by Idalia, then Category 1 Hurricane Debby in August 2024 and now Helene.
Hiers, who sits on Horseshoe Beach鈥檚 town council, said words like 鈥渦nbelievable鈥� are beginning to lose their meaning.
鈥淚鈥檝e tried to use them all. Catastrophic. Devastating. Heartbreaking 鈥� none of that explains what happened here,鈥� Hiers said.
The back-to-back hits to Florida鈥檚 Big Bend are forcing residents to reckon with the true costs of living in an area under siege by storms that researchers say are becoming stronger because of .
The Hiers, like many others here, homeowner鈥檚 insurance on their flood-prone houses, even if it was . Residents who have watched their life savings get washed away multiple times are left with few choices 鈥� leave the communities where their families have lived for generations, pay tens of thousands of dollars to on stilts as building codes require, or move into a recreational vehicle they can drive out of harm鈥檚 way.
That鈥檚 if they can afford any of those things. The storm left many residents bunking with family or friends, sleeping in their cars, or sheltering in what鈥檚 left of their collapsing homes.
Janalea England wasn't waiting for outside organizations to get aid to her friends and neighbors, turning her commercial fish market in the river town of Steinhatchee into a pop-up donation distribution center, just like she did after Hurricane Idalia. A row of folding tables was stacked with water, canned food, diapers, soap, clothes and shoes, a steady stream of residents coming and going.
鈥淚鈥檝e never seen so many people homeless as what I have right now. Not in my community,鈥� England said. 鈥淭hey have nowhere to go.鈥�
鈥業t鈥檚 just gone'
The sparsely populated Big Bend is known for its towering pine forests and pristine salt marshes that disappear into the horizon, a remote stretch of largely undeveloped coastline that鈥檚 mostly dodged the crush of condos, golf courses and souvenir strip malls that has carved up so much of the Sunshine State.
This is a place where teachers, mill workers and housekeepers could still afford to live within walking distance of the Gulf鈥檚 white sand beaches. Or at least they used to, until a third successive hurricane blew their homes apart.
Helene was so destructive, many residents don鈥檛 have a home left to clean up, escaping the storm with little more than the clothes on their backs, even losing their shoes to the surging tides.
鈥淧eople didn鈥檛 even have a Christmas ornament to pick up or a plate from their kitchen,鈥� Hiers said. 鈥淚t was just gone.鈥�
In a place where people are trying to get away from what they see as government interference, England, who organized her own donation site, isn鈥檛 putting her faith in government agencies and insurance companies.
鈥淔EMA didn鈥檛 do much,鈥� she said. 鈥淭hey lost everything with Idalia and they were told, 鈥榟ere, you can have a loan.鈥� I mean, where鈥檚 our tax money going then?鈥�
England鈥檚 sister, Lorraine Davis, got a letter in the mail just days before Helene hit declaring that her insurance company was dropping her, with no explanation other than her home 鈥渇ails to meet underwriting鈥�.
Living on a fixed income, Davis has no idea how she鈥檒l repair the long cracks that opened up in the ceiling of her trailer after the last storm.
鈥淲e'll all be on our own,鈥� England said. 鈥淲e're used to it.鈥�
鈥楾his could be the end of your town'
In the surreal aftermath of this third hurricane, some residents don鈥檛 have the strength to clean up their homes again, not with other storms still brewing in the Gulf.
With marinas washed away, restaurants collapsed and vacation homes blown apart, many commercial fishermen, servers and housecleaners lost their homes and their jobs on the same day.
Those who worked at the local sawmill and paper mill, two bedrock employers in the area, were laid off in the past year too. Now a convoy of semi-trucks full of hurricane relief supplies have set up camp at the shuttered mill in the city of Perry.
Hud Lilliott was a mill worker for 28 years, before losing his job and now his canal-front home in Dekle Beach, just down the street from the house where he grew up.
Lilliott and his wife Laurie hope to rebuild their house there, but they don鈥檛 know how they鈥檒l pay for it. And they鈥檙e worried the school in Steinhatchee where Laurie teaches first grade could become another casualty of the storm, as the county watches its tax base float away.
鈥淲e've worked our whole lives and we're so close to where they say the 鈥榞olden years鈥�," Laurie said. "It's like you can see the light and it all goes dark.鈥�
Dave Beamer rebuilt his home in Steinhatchee after it was 鈥渢otaled鈥� by Hurricane Idalia, only to see it washed into the marsh a year later.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 think I can do that again,鈥� Beamer said. 鈥淓verybody鈥檚 changing their mind about how we鈥檙e going to live here.鈥�
A waterlogged clock in a shed nearby shows the moment when time stopped, marking before Helene and after.
Beamer plans to stay in this river town, but put his home on wheels 鈥� buying a camper and building a pole barn to park it under.
In Horseshoe Beach, Hiers is waiting for a makeshift town hall to be delivered in the coming days, a double-wide trailer where they鈥檒l offer what services they can for as long as they can. She and her husband are staying with their daughter, a 45-minute drive away.
鈥淵ou feel like this could be the end of things as you knew it. Of your town. Of your community,鈥� Hiers said. 鈥淲e just don't even know how to recover at this point.鈥�
Hiers said she and her husband will probably buy an RV and park it where their home once stood. But they won't be moving back to Horseshoe Beach for good until this year's storms are done.
They can't bear to do this again.
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Kate Payne is a corps member for The Associated Press/Report for America Statehouse 撸奶社区 Initiative. is a nonprofit national service program that places journalists in local newsrooms to report on undercovered issues.
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Associated Press coverage of philanthropy and nonprofits receives support through the AP鈥檚 collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content. For all of AP鈥檚 philanthropy coverage, visit
Kate Payne And David R. Martin, The Associated Press
