Video of Live Presentations at Hope Rising:

The number is the time each presentation appears in the video:

0:00  Prelude- Erik Entwistle Nuvole Bianchi (White Clouds) by Ludovico Einaudi

5:02   Doreen Bolhuis -Short Story

9:11     Natalie Guerra -Poem "The 12 Days of Ian"

11:52   Randall Saunders -Poem "Islands, Animals & Light" (Ann  Marie Bouche – reader)

14:05  Sanibel School Seahorse Chorale -3 musical selections

"We Will, Chatter With The Angels & When I Close My Eyes"

26:23    Olivia Harre -Short Story

30:23     Trio Maureen Vel, Anne-Marie Bouché, Doreen Bolhuis “You Raise Me Up”

36:12      Len Edgerley -Poem "Pickleball Among the Ruins"

39:06      Brenda DeCapua -Short Story (Maureen Vel – reader)

46:18    Rich Mattern, Erik Entwistle -piano duet “Sheep May Safely Graze”

51:38  Jim Weyant 3 Poems - "A Last Lingering Tear," "Sanibel Strong," & "Hope"

(Anne-Marie Bouché – reader)

54:52   Erik Entwistle -Piano solo "Hearts Overflowing"

58:54     Maureen Vel -Short Story

1:06:56     Cathy Lanier- 2 Short Stories

1:14:39    Rich Mattern -Piano solo "The Lord Bless You and Keep You"

(unfortunately the video ended before the final presentation and postlude- but they are included below in written form) Jim Brown Sr. -2 Poems "Sanibel" & "After the Storm" (Maureen Vel – reader)

Postlude- Erik Entwistle Nuvole Bianchi (White Clouds) by Ludovico Einaudi

Robert is an artist that has been legally blind for 20 years but continues to create works of art.  His inspiration for the sunset Lighthouse painting was a photograph taken a couple years ago.   The collage made from some debris that came from his home when it was severely damaged.         recjmc@gmail.com

Sunrise Lighthouse by Rachel Pierce

Art by Rachel Pierce

Jewelry Art by Robin L. Cook   majestichills@outlook.com

Olivia Harre

Olivia wrote this piece for a publication of Calvin College, a small college in Grand Rapids Michigan. The publication extends to a broad readership, and Olivia’s writing has given insight for thousands of people to better understand the magic of Sanibel Island and the impact of hurricane Ian.

Since I was a little girl, Sanibel Island was my sacred place. It held a bit of magic, with its innumerable shells and uncommon wildlife and watercolor sunsets. As I grew older, it was the place I connected most with family, where our “real” lives paused long enough to rest and enjoy creation and each other’s company. It was tropical and wild and unspeakably beautiful. It was

the place I felt most at peace. Was.

About a month ago, Hurricane Ian tore across the island. The storm surge reached up to ten feet, sweeping away homes and businesses and all their contents, scattering them across the island and out to sea. It left behind a trail of devastation the likes of which I’ve seen on the news a million times but never experienced personally. Until now. The pictures are surreal. There’s something about seeing your favorite grocery store, restaurant, bookstore, and home demolished that is irreparably unsettling. The island I’ve always loved has been turned into unrecognizable wreckage, and the aftermath is apocalyptic. I realize I am incredibly blessed to even be writing this. I wasn’t on the island during the storm, and this isn’t my actual home that was destroyed. But it is home to decades of memories for my family, home to the realization of dreams and sweet conversations and our favorite snowy plover birds—and I deeply feel the pain of this loss. This grief is mine to own and honor and feel.

I never took the island for granted, even when I was younger. Every time I looked out our window to the ocean or watched a pelican dive for a fish or fell asleep to the sound of the waves, it felt surreal. That I would get to spend time in such a magical place and feel it restore my soul was beyond me. I became a bird-watcher, studied the different shells, swam in the ocean and

walked along the shore until my feet hurt. I woke up at sunrise to bike in the nature preserve and feel the warm breeze in my hair and look for alligators and osprey. In the wake of the hurricane, there has been so much to mourn. But what I’ll be missing the most is a place to rest: the place where I saw my parents, who never stop spinning their wheels for others, take a minute to just breathe and be. Where I saw my grandma relax and remember years of sweet memories on the island, where my cousin made creative and delicious dishes for the family and we all played card games crowded around the kitchen table. My therapist told me that rest is an inside job—that we don’t need Sanibel in order to experience rest or have these cherished moments. I found this revelation wildly inconvenient as someone who tends to run away when life is overwhelming or sad or difficult. I would love to believe travel will solve all my problems, but I know she’s right. We need to find internal moments of Sanibel rest until we can one day return to the island.

Our carpet and furniture and walls are all moldy and gone, but the building remains. The palm and mangrove trees were stripped of their leaves, and much of the vegetation on the island has turned brown. A layer of salty murk coats the island and piles of rubble line the roads we blissfully biked down just a few months ago. But there are little bits of green appearing in the trees, the birds are returning and the bobcats are freely roaming the island. Sanibel will grow back from this trauma, but it will be different. Stronger and wilder. I look forward to the day we experience its beauty again.

Dana Enders  www.paintingsbydanaenders.com

Doreen Bolhuis

This is a Facebook post written in late October for friends and family to share my experiences and emotions in the aftermath of Ian. For me, the experience of Sanibel Island post-Ian is analogous to the emotions when a loved one has a stroke or their heart stops. When a loved one suffers a life-threatening event and the medical team brings the body to life again - a small heartbeat or tiny breath - we are filled with hope and gratitude. After that initial breath of life, our loved one begins recovery, and we then

realize how long the journey will be for them and we grieve the many losses at the same time we bravely walk beside them to help with hope and determination for the future. Sanibel’s beating heart seemed to stop after Ian. When we first arrived by boat, everything looked dead. But soon, islanders and people from all over the world arrived to revive her. At first there was barely a detectable heartbeat or breath, but Sanibel’s life kept getting stronger every day, and my heart rejoiced with every step. The recovery will be hard and long but the men and women here are strong and committed; my kind of people.

Although we all grieve, we are not overcome and we keep our eyes focused forward to create a bright new future for Sanibel no matter how long it takes. We take joy in the water, sunshine, the wildlife and sea life, the companionship of loving people, and the spirit of our beloved island. These are the simple things that have always brought us joy and which sustain us as we rebuild our island homes. There is a beautiful bonding that happens when people are joined together in recovery from adversity. A unity of purpose supersedes anything that might divide. I have been grateful to see the best of humanity and to be part of it. People from all over the United States left home and family to live in spartan conditions to help us. Thank you to those beautiful people! So many of them have lifted us up with their strong bodies and smiles; I will never forget them. Islanders are determined and resilient people who are committed to community which is why I love it here. And even though our island is currently broken and disfigured, there is still thepeace and tranquility that has always been Sanibel. The island still calls to me with her magic.

As our island struggles to heal, I rejoice at each small step and look forward to Sanibel’s bright future.

Cathy Lanier – Facebook posts about Ian

From December 4, 2022:

Went to church today, and for me, that means I took a walk on the beach out in front of our rental condo. As I was communing with God about His wonder in creating such a beautiful place, but also His hand in the devastation of a storm that causes such destruction, the word "Renewal" kept coming to mind. People falsely relate to others that our beaches are "dangerous" and not to be trod. That's not true. Beaches will always renew themselves -- they need no assistance from us, and Sanibel's beaches are doing just that. They're filing in the gullies and washes created by the storm already, and the birds and sea life are doing what they do. The shells are just as plentiful and beautiful, and the waters are getting clearer and clearer. It's a little touch and go to access them, so only the nimble in sturdy shoes should try it, but it's worth the trip, if for nothing else but to get a little sense of normalcy in this surreal existence in which we're all unwitting participants. It's true we're nowhere near ready for tourists, and won't be for some time. But the natural beauty that is Sanibel will remain and restore. So, my prayer today was to protect this unique place. Prevent the greedy bastards that are just waiting for us to crack so they can buy up our beautiful island, plot by plot, and turn it into another gaudy, tacky, overpriced beach resort town with no respect for its history and beauty. We can't let that happen. We have to keep the spirit, uniqueness, and natural beauty that is Sanibel, and do everything in our power to prevent the corporate beach idea from impacting our lifestyle and the specialness of this place. In order to do that, we must bring back our island. Bring back its family-owned businesses.  Bring back our core. Support that effort. Truly. Support that effort.

 From November 24, 2022 (Thanksgiving Day):

 Took a little mental health break today and went in search of a beach that was relatively safe to access -- I needed my toes in the sand since I haven't done that since before the storm. Since most of what's surrounding Beach Access #6 has been washed or blown away, that's where we went. Eerily quiet, and shells everywhere once you get past the dead fish (and smell) washed up

on the beach. Felt almost normal as long as you were looking gulfward. As soon as you turn around and see what looks like bombed-out structures, you have to come to reckoning with the power of mother nature. I have to believe this happened to make the way for renewal - of property, of vision, of love and faith in each other and any higher power that you respect. The day I was getting dressed to evacuate my beloved Sanibel for shelter in a hotel in Ft. Myers, I pulled out a t-shirt with a simple word: Joyful. I made up my mind right then and there to make every effort to stay true to that simple dictum. To remain joyful, no matter what: Joyful for the time I've had to enjoy my Sanibel paradise; joyful for the friends, old and new, I've had the

opportunity with whom to share this wondrous island and all it has to offer; joyful for the hope to restore and reimagine the symbol of hope this place can become for the rest of the world. Some days are tougher than others to uphold that joy, but sometimes, you have to & "fake it til you make it."

 We will rebuild. We will restore. We will survive. For everything we've lost, there are twice that many blessings just in knowing this special place is still our home and respite from the stresses of the day. So, on this Thanksgiving Day, join with me to remain joyful for it all: What we've had, what we've lost, and what we can restore and give back to preserve this unique paradise that others visit and marvel at every year. We LIVE where others long to vacation. That's really something to cherish, and I'll be damned if I'll allow a puny Cat 4 or 5 hurricane to steal that joy from me!

Maureen Corpron-Vel   Hope Rising

We had busied ourselves with the events of the week and day. Folks traveling to work, parents at school events, doctors’ appointments, shopping, I was running a moving sale for a client. Then somehow in a very busy life cycle for us all, mother nature reared her ugly head and threatened to sabotage our lives as we knew them. It is so interesting to me how very important our meager daily tasks become and we seemingly feel that nothing looming before us can be interrupted or changed. The thought is laughable now, but the reality at the time is quite another matter.

Going about our daily routines my moving team listened anxiously to the blow-by-blow report on the radio as Hurricane Ian inched its way along the coast, not quite deciding which way to turn. I am sad to confess that I silently prayed Sanibel would be spared which only meant that someone else would be in the devastating path of Ian. So why not me, a terrible event I’m wanting to escape, but surely not wishing it on the unknown families further up the coast. A troubling conundrum to be faced with. We are but flesh and bones and as futile as our human conspiring’s are daily for productive, peaceful and busy days in our foolishness we have no control. My silent resolution was to pray for mercy and strength for the outcome and task at hand, compassion and grace to help those less fortunate, and oh yes Lord in your mercy, take this cup from all of us and let Ian go out to sea!

Surrounded by my team members and faithful followers of our sales I received words of encouragement and as the news degraded and Sanibel and surrounding area was not to be spared, encouragement turned to tears, hugs, gasps and horror. I experienced this once before on 9-11 when I was in an emergency room in Oshawa Ontario Canada as the planes hit the trade center which led to their collapse. When folks found out that we were Americans it led total strangers to embrace us, pray for us, support us. All the issues that separated us faded away and we were a suffering people, loving one another and lending support and encouragement when and where needed. We are all humans after all and there is more that units us than divides us.

Day 9 post Ian a boat trip to the island confirmed our worst fears. Our island paradise home had been heavily damaged. We are all in this boat together, thousands of hurting, homeless and suffering people along the Florida coast. But somehow, I took it a bit personally. Afterall it was my bedroom wall that was now laying 2 stories below, my TV still attached to the wall. All my quilts, material, sewing machines, Christmas decorations, memorabilia, tools and such that was underwater and gone. Some floating away, most water logged and covered in mud. Gone. We had worked so hard for 3 years, racing to the finish line of a re-modeled home and at last our life’s efforts realized and the much dreamed of and coveted retirement. Life at a different pace and choosing how to spent our days in paradise. A beautiful reward for a lifetime of hard work and planning.

It took a few months to re-gain our footing, recover from the shock of it all, process and set aside our sadness and plan a way forward. It started small with an invitation to our scattered neighbors to gather at a recently opened Sanibel restaurant to break bread together, catch up, laugh and support one another. As we all began to come back to our homes to clean and clear away the clutter and hopefully fix up our homes to live in, more time was spent meeting on streets, in driveways and gathering on lawns sharing experiences, problem solving, words of wisdom and sharing knowledge we had gained. We discovered that kindness doesn’t cost a thing, yet it is the richest gift you can give during times like these and hopefully we will remember these lessons moving well into the future.

We celebrate each neighbor who gets to move back into their homes and businesses and cried with those who lost all and had to move on and of course through it all prayed for one another. We recently had a cookout for about 25 neighbors in the driveway of a home not yet able to be occupied. Folks brought grills that survived, dishes to pass, lawn chairs and stories and we celebrated, laughed and shared words of encouragement with one another. 

Someone asked me, so have you cried yet? I was thoughtful and replied not for myself but for the tremendous suffering of all those other people all over the world who are facing hardship, fear, loss and pain. Because certainly now we all know how that really feels, not just a story on the 6:00 news. She was quick to hug me and say that she would cry for me, I was touched into silence, grateful, thankful and I finally realized that at the end of each day gratitude turns what we have into enough. Promising us a new start at a new dawn and always in our hearts a hope for a better and brighter tomorrow.