We have a new weather girl in town. She’s young, cute, and perky, and obviously not from Louisiana.

When it came time to prepare for the latest Hurricane to come our way, I have to admit y’all, she seemed a little excited. In all her excitement, she kept remembering things to tell us.

Don’t forget to get extra water.

And stock up on your medications.

Buy non-perishable food items for your pantry.

And don’t forget your pets.

Awe, sweet girl. It’s ok. We’ve done this before.

In Louisiana, we collect Hurricanes like Boy Scouts collect badges. We wear them proudly on our sleeves – Rita, Gustav, Betsy, Audrey, Katrina – and now Harvey. We have stories upon stories of how we survived. We listen to our parents talk of Betsy and Audrey like they are old friends.

So like I said, we’ve done this before.

As a child, I remember Hurricanes as days off from school, my mom lighting tall tapered candles that were only burned when the lights went out, picking up limbs from the yard after the towering pine tress lost their branches in the latest storm.

When I went to LSU as a young freshman with wings ready to take off, I was introduced to two new glorious words when a bad storm made its way up from the Gulf. Hurricane Party. This was a wonderful concept that consisted of throwing huge parties before, during, and after a Hurricane. You have to understand two things to grasp the full complexities of a Hurricane Party: 1) We were young. 2) LSU had just been voted the top party school in the nation and we had a reputation to uphold. I specifically remember my mom calling my dorm room during my first Hurricane in Baton Rouge and asking if I should come home. Not on your life, Mom. Not on your life.

As a newly married couple, Scott and I survived a few Hurricanes hunkered down in our tiny little cottage home with no electricity for several days. One of our first fights was over my Hurricane preparedness strategy that consisted of one thing:

No haters, please. Peanut butter and jelly mixed together just screams Hurricane ready. I mean, what else do you need? It has protein, fruit, and carbohydrates all combined into one.

Scott: Did you get water at the store?

Me: No

Scott: What about bread?

Me: No

Scott: Did you get anything we can survive on for the next few days?

Me: Of course! Peanut Butter and Jelly in a Jar!

Scott: (words I cannot publish)

Scott says we are not survivors, instead we are Die-Firsters. But I don’t care. We’ll see who is on top when he’s craving something a little nutty, yet a little sweet, and there is no peanut butter and jelly in a jar to be found anywhere in town.

Besides the fights we had over my obviously superior skills at preparing for Hurricanes, some of my fondest memories come from Hurricane days. I remember sitting on the front steps of our little cottage, my belly swollen and growing with a baby boy inside, and having friends pull into our driveway. Just checking on you. Ya’ll need anything?

I remember sitting at the kitchen table at friends’ homes, the windows up, the slight breeze blowing the sticky hair off my neck, talking, just talking. Because when there is no electricity and nothing to distract us, words flow more freely.

I remember the food. Y’all, this is something that every native Louisianan knows, but we eat the best during a Hurricane. When freezers start to thaw out and food is at risk of spoiling, we start cooking. Gumbo, fish, chicken on the grill. I remember tables full of food that friends and family had brought over one afternoon. We ate and laughed and ate some more. We knew that there was clean-up to do and hard work would soon start, but good food and good friends always come first here.

Of course, now that I have children of my own and one with medical needs, I take Hurricanes a little more seriously. I rehearse an evacuation drill in my mind like I’m preparing for a Broadway play. I repeat over and over in my head, Glucose meter, test strips, lancets, sugar, insulin. Then I whisper – Insulin, Insulin, Insulin. Remember Sally, he can’t live without insulin.

I admit, I have brief moments of panic when I think about where we would go if our home flooded, what we would do if we got separated, who would take care of my children. But then I remember, we’ve done this before.

We have a history with Hurricanes, but we also have a history of helping our neighbors. We take that as seriously as we take our Hurricanes. We get in our boats to rescue those who may be stranded, we show up ready to work at a shelter, we clean a neighbor’s yard, we tear sheetrock from flooded homes. We bring food to those who can’t cook for themselves, we fill sandbags for the neighborhood school, we read books to frightened children, and we take care of those who cannot take care of themselves.

And listen to me very closely here, because this is the most important part of it all – we never say no to someone who is not the same skin color as us. We don’t turn away those who voted for the other party. We don’t refuse to help someone living a different lifestyle from our own. We never have and we never will. We here in Louisiana know this, but I feel like the rest of the country needs to know this too.

When the waters recede and the media leaves town, when schools re-open and shelters close, when the sun shines again and the rains stop, we will still be here – Helping our neighbors.

We’ve done this before.