On the morning of April 16, 2024, I was still asleep when my mother called. She said our house had been blown away.
I didn't believe it, but I didn't say so. After a moment, I felt it must be true; after all, my mom wouldn't joke about such things.
I looked out the window, and dark clouds loomed.
In the mountainous area, having a house blown away is quite counterintuitive; how strong must the wind be?
Of course, I later learned from the news that it was a typhoon with a force of level 12.
It was also pouring rain in the city, so I asked my mom if she needed me to bring anything back.
She said no, just come back and see. I said, oh, okay.
It was obvious that my mother's voice was very sad.
I started making calls, flipping through my contacts to see who I could call, asking friends who worked at the same place about the situation.
Mainly to see what new policies were in place.
A town mayor from a nearby town asked if I had paid for agricultural housing insurance.
These disasters rely on the civil affairs policies in the town, which offer little compensation.
But as long as people are okay, that's what matters.
I said I would ask at home since my father is the head of the household, and I didn't know these details.
My mom told me that they had paid two years ago, but hadn't paid in recent years.
Well, in any case, they hadn't paid. So I would have to pay for the house myself.
I thought I should go home first, so I bought a large roll of tarpaulin; I had to cover it from the rain no matter what.
The mountain road that usually takes about 2 hours, I reached in just over 40 minutes.
After crossing the highest mountain, the rain stopped, the fog cleared, and the sun slowly peeked out.
That mountain actually has a name—Mashan. But that's not important.
However, the sky cleared up, and my mood was no longer one of forced calm.
On the small road near home, a few 20-centimeter tall pine trees had been snapped off cleanly by the wind.
One had fallen onto the road. It seemed my father had cleared it a bit; his tricycle could pass through. There were tire marks.
I carefully moved my vehicle past it.
I thought to myself, this wind is indeed strong.
Even trees I could barely hold onto were blown down.
I don't remember how I felt when I entered the house, nor what I was thinking at the time, even though it was only 10 days ago.
At that moment, I might have thought of nothing. Just a blank.
At that time, neighbors from the same village came to visit and try to help.
A few groups had come and gone; the rain was too heavy.
Although everyone was a neighbor, they weren't right next to each other, and it still took several minutes to walk.
In chatting, I learned that 8 households in our village were affected.
The wind was strange; it was gusty, and houses just a few meters away were unharmed.
In broad daylight, it was so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Just like in '98...
Fortunately, my parents were up in the mountains picking tea at the time. They weren't home.
Our family was considered one of the three severely affected.
However, it wasn't as serious as my mother said on the phone that the house was blown away.
"Only" the roof of the annex was blown off; the beams, purlins, rafters, and tiles were all gone.
Later, we found a few pieces in the forest on the back mountain.
This wooden Tujia stilt house couldn't withstand the wind.
Someone suggested that I pay for the agricultural housing insurance today and report it in a few days.
I thought it was feasible, but then I felt it wasn't.
This would be insurance fraud; the risk was a bit high, mainly because it wasn't worth it. How much could I claim anyway?
My mom said they had paid two years ago, and that year the roof was damaged by branches, but the insurance company said the loss was too small to come. My mom was so angry that she hadn't paid in the last two years.
I thought to myself, that was too reckless; thankfully, I hadn't known at the time.
Having suffered a disaster, the most important thing is, of course, to rebuild.
The weather was unpredictable, and it was hard to tell when the sun would come out.
If the sun didn't come out, we couldn't uncover the tarpaulin, and we didn't dare to go on the roof.
After waiting for 4 days, there was finally a bit of sun, and the roof dried.
I started making calls again; the next day, all the young people in the village who weren't out came.
I quietly started smoking; at this time, besides good wine and good cigarettes to entertain, it seemed there were no more words of gratitude to express.
My nearly 80-year-old uncle also came to help.
I told him he couldn't lift or move anything, so he should go kill some chickens.
Then my uncle killed a chicken and a duck.
I said to kill a goose too, but everyone said that was enough, no need to kill more.
In the end, that silly duck made three pots of dishes and still had leftovers.
It felt like a dream, like experiencing a major life event, yet it also felt like nothing had happened.
My mom said it was good; we had passed another hurdle.