I live on Siesta Key. I review gear for a living. But this week, I felt more like a neighbor with wet socks. Milton blew through and left a mess—here’s the full breakdown of what broke, what helped, and what I’d do again. Not the worst storm I’ve seen, but mean enough to test every bolt and every nerve.
Official reports clocked Milton’s landfall here on October 9, 2024, as a Category 3 with 120 mph winds, cutting power to more than 2.2 million Floridians (Reuters) and leaving 226 coastal structures in Sarasota County with major damage, from single-family homes to multifamily dwellings (Florida DEP).
Here’s my honest take, first hand. No sponsors. No fluff.
Where It Hit Me
My place is a small stilt house near Beach Road, on the canal side. The street turned into a shallow river for a bit. Water pushed under the doors and kissed the baseboards. Think ankle deep inside. The kind that leaves a gritty brown line on the wall. If you know, you know.
The screen on my lanai ripped in two spots. The dock cleats held, but one bolt bent like soft butter. The boat lift cable frayed. I didn’t lose the canoe, but I did find a neighbor’s pool float in my bougainvillea. We laughed. Then we hauled soggy stuff to the curb.
Power was out for almost two days. Cell service stuttered. Wi-Fi went first, then came back, then went again. The night air was heavy with salt and the hum of generators. It smelled like wet rope and pine.
Damage You Can See (And Smell)
- Sand piled in the driveway like cat litter. Not cute.
- Seaweed stacked in stinky mounds along the street.
- Shingles off two houses across from me. Just a few, but enough to worry.
- One palm leaned like it had a long day and needed a wall to rest on.
- The AC outside tripped. Salt spray messes with GFCIs. I dried it out and it clicked back.
- Doors swelled. They stuck, then scraped. You can hear it in the hinges, like a groan.
- The pool turned tea green with leaves and grit. It’ll clear, but not fast.
Down by the Village, a surf shop lost part of a sign. Umbrellas from the public beach popped up three blocks inland. I found one near a mailbox. The turtles? The nest stakes by Access 7 were still there. That made me smile.
The Gear That Actually Helped (I Used It All)
I test kit all the time, so I had a decent setup. Some things earned their keep. Some made me grumble.
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Honda EU2200i generator: This little red brick kept my fridge cold and ran a fan. It sipped gas—about a gallon for most of a day with light loads. Quiet enough that I could hear the rain. I used a 12-gauge extension cord and a CO alarm. Please, never run it in a garage. Ever.
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Goal Zero Yeti 500X power station + a 100W folding solar panel: Kept phones, a headlamp, and the router charged when the grid blinked. It won’t run an AC, but it will keep you sane.
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Midland ER310 weather radio: It’s hand-crank and solar. It just works. When the phone map spun forever, this told me what was next.
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Ryobi 40V chainsaw: Good for limbs under 6 inches. Anything bigger, it bogged. I borrowed a neighbor’s Stihl MS 170 for the thick stuff. We tag-teamed. That felt good.
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Harbor Freight 10-mil tarp (blue): I tarped the lanai where the screen tore. The thick tarp held. A cheap thin one shredded by morning. Lesson learned: weight matters.
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Ridgid 12-gal shop vac: Pulled a ton of water, sand, and my patience. It clogged once, because sand is sneaky. A push squeegee did better for the first pass.
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Milwaukee M18 headlamp: Hands-free light at 3 a.m. is worth more than gold. Ok, maybe not gold, but close.
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Gorilla mounting tape: No. Great on a calm day. So-so when it’s damp. Roofing nails through furring strips beat tape when things get wild.
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Vornado 660 fan + a box fan: Once power returned, I ran these with windows open. Air movement matters. It stops the musty smell from winning.
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CO alarms (Kidde): Two of them. One near the hallway, one in the kitchen. They let me sleep without the nervous jump every time the generator changed tone.
What Let Me Down
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Cheap woven sandbags from a big box store: They leaked like a lazy faucet. I’m switching to water-activated flood barriers next time. The long kind that look like a flat hose? Those actually seal.
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Random no-name power strip: It tripped and got warm. Scary. I tossed it. Use heavy-duty strips rated for outdoor use if you must. And keep them off wet floors. A milk crate works.
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Duct tape on wet stucco: It peels off like a banana. Don’t bother.
Little Things That Saved Hours
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Painter’s tape marking the water line on walls. Sounds silly. It speeds up photos for insurance. You forget the exact height the next day.
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A cheap moisture meter from Amazon: I stuck it into baseboards and marked spots that read high. We cut a 12-inch strip of drywall in one room to let it breathe. Sometimes you have to hurt the wall to save the wall.
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Vinegar first, then a proper mold control spray (Concrobium). Bleach smells “clean,” but it doesn’t soak into porous stuff as well. Vinegar does. Then seal.
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Zip-top bags for screws and labels for each room. When you pull baseboards, you’ll thank yourself later.
People Stuff (The Part That Matters)
I cried once. I’m not proud, but I’m not hiding it. The noise got me. The dark gets big after midnight. Then Ms. Rosa from two houses down brought cafecito and a slice of guava pastry at sunrise. We shared a folding chair. We watched the street steam in the light. I felt better.
FPL trucks rolled by, and folks clapped. Teenagers dragged branches into a pile. A guy with a pickup asked if we needed ice. Publix was low on it, but the clerk tucked a small bag under the counter when she heard we had a baby next door. That’s this place.
Traffic was a mess by Stickney Point the first day after. That bridge loves drama. But the beach? By sunset, the sky went cotton candy, and the water calmed down like nothing had happened. It reminded me of the stubborn calm we still found during the red tide a few seasons back. That’s this place too.
If cabin fever starts mixing with the salt air and you’re single, remember that hurricane recovery doesn’t cancel the need for a little fun. For a no-strings way to meet locals who also need a break from tarp talk, check out PlanCul—it pairs nearby adults in minutes and can turn an otherwise gloomy evening into a spontaneous drink or beach walk. Likewise, some of the linemen and relief volunteers shipped in from Nebraska were joking about having no idea where to unwind once they head back inland; if you—or they—find yourselves in the Cornhusker State’s capital with a free night, the listings at Backpage Lincoln can quickly connect you with locals up for coffee, conversation, or something more, saving you from another hotel-TV evening.
Quick Hits: Keep or Skip
- Keep: Honda EU2200i, thick tarps, real extension cords, CO alarms, headlamps, a squeegee, contractor bags, plastic totes with latching lids.
- Skip: Thin tarps, cheap sandbags, mystery power strips, duct tape on wet anything.
- Maybe: Battery chainsaw for light work, but have a friend with a gas saw on call.
Would I Stay Or Go Next Time?
I stayed this time. It was borderline. If the track shifts late, things change fast. Next time, if the surge looks pushy, I’m going early. No hero points for sleeping with a wet floor. I’ve got a go bag now—meds, documents, a small first aid kit, pet food, and one good hoodie. I also keep cash, because card readers get cranky when the grid is down.
Funny twist: I said I’d never leave my coffee grinder. Then I used a mortar and pestle. It worked great. It felt old school. See? Mild contradictions. But it made a better cup than I expected.