Shelter from the Storm

The era of extreme weather is upon us. How do we adapt to this new normal?

By Edward Weinman

urricane Helene raged across the southeastern United States in late September 2024, causing catastrophic flooding and ravaging communities from Florida’s Tampa Bay all the way inland to North Carolina’s Appalachian mountain towns. The Category 4 storm killed at least 219 people and inflicted more than $63 billion in damages.

Less than two weeks later, Hurricane Milton intensified into a Category 5 storm in the Gulf of Mexico. It hit the west coast of Florida as a slightly weakened Category 3, killing more than 30 people and causing an estimated $34 billion in damages.

The numbers do not lie. More Category 4 and 5 hurricanes hit the U.S. from 2017 to 2021 than from 1963 to 2016. By 2100, the number of major hurricanes, including a new breed of “ultra-intense” Category 5 storms with winds of at least 190 miles per hour, is expected to increase by 20%, according to recent studies analyzed by Time.

These are devastating predictions considering that 129 million people—nearly 40 percent of the nation’s total population—live in coastal counties.

As climate change intensifies, extreme weather events such as hurricanes, wildfires, flooding, atmospheric rivers and drought strike more frequently, leaving a trail of destruction and prompting a critical question: Now what?

Adapting to this new reality won’t be easy, especially when 51% of Americans say they have felt suspicious of the groups and people pushing for action on climate change, according to Pew Research Center. A Pew poll also reveals that only 46% of Americans believe that climate change is anthropogenic.

“Climate change can be a politicized issue,” says Kristiane Huber ’11, an environmental policy analyst focused on state-level climate adaptation and flood-preparedness policy at The Pew Charitable Trusts.

“But there is widespread agreement that disasters are impacting people more severely. There’s a growing acknowledgment that gradual changes like sea level rise are happening, leading to more frequent ‘sunny day flooding.’ The trends point to this worsening in the future, and communities are ready to engage,” says Huber, who majored in environmental studies and government and was a scholar in the Goodwin-Niering Center for the Environment at Conn, before earning a Master of Science in natural resources and the environment from the University of Michigan.

Hurricane Helene damage in St. Petersburg, Florida. Glen Richard/Shutterstock

Much of Huber’s work takes place in politically diverse states, where lawmakers may not be working through the lens of climate change action, but are focused on the impacts of disasters.

“There’s real progress happening under the radar, led by state officials who genuinely care about this issue and the well-being of their constituents,” Huber says.

It’s work that supports state planning and helps localities understand their risks and “create a vision for a more resilient and strong community.”

The word “resilience” is frequently used in the climate change space. But how can communities become more resilient in the face of superstorms when one of the key ways to remain safe during an extreme weather event is to evacuate?

Janan Reilly ’11, the senior climate advisor for Hazard Mitigation Assistance Programs at the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), says the “biggest misconception is that all FEMA does is disaster response.” Reilly majored in environmental studies and, like Huber, was a Goodwin-Niering scholar at Conn. She earned a Master of Science in marine research management from Oregon State University.

“My personal big goal is to have people think of FEMA as a resilience agency. Our primary role is to help the nation and communities be more prepared for climate change and disasters before they happen.”

The resilience projects that Huber and Reilly advocate for empower communities across flood zones and in the paths of storms to become more prepared. These projects include wetland restoration, as healthy wetlands soak up excess rainfall and reduce flood risk; green roofs and walls, which are vegetated surfaces that can absorb rainwater and reduce stormwater runoff; and living shorelines, which use plants, sand and other natural materials to stabilize coastlines and protect against erosion and sea level rise.

While these natural solutions might sound like a wish list for environmentalists, they are actively sought out by those living in low-lying communities, no matter their political affiliation.

“After a few major flooding or wind events, we don’t have to convince anyone of the risks,” Reilly says.

Huber recently returned from Savannah, Georgia, where she visited Tybee Island to observe storm impacts and how nature-based projects have fared, including planting marram grass, the roots of which slow beach erosion, and constructing dunes that help protect houses and infrastructure from storm surge, high tides and erosion.

“During Hurricane Milton, Savannah hotels were nearly full with families and retirees (and dogs) who had evacuated from Florida. Administrators at Savannah State University also talked about students sheltering on campus without power for three days following Hurricane Helene,” Huber says.

“Their experiences show the need to ramp up investment in community and infrastructure resilience, and Tybee’s projects show that nature-based infrastructure can be a big piece of the puzzle.”

We are aware that flooding is an issue and our coastlines are a major part of our economy.

— Katy Serafin ’08, coastal scientist at the University of Florida

Human-made solutions—like elevating buildings, constructing floodwalls and levees, laying permeable pavements on roads allowing rainwater to infiltrate the ground, reducing stormwater runoff and implementing early warning systems—can also make communities more resilient.

But natural or human-made, resilience projects cost money. While a large portion of the funding comes from FEMA, “states play a critical role” in developing resilience projects, Huber says. “They work directly with communities, build trust, and drive policy and leadership on resilience. We’re seeing a lot of innovation at the state level, with bipartisan support for resilience and adaptation projects. We need more effort and funding to meet the challenge, but there’s a lot to celebrate.”

All FEMA-funded projects must comply with environmental laws, regulations, executive orders and the National Historic Preservation Act, which passed in 1966 and established “a national preservation program and a system of procedural protections, which encourage both the identification and protection of historic resources, including archaeological resources, at the federal level and indirectly at the state and local level,” according to the National Park Service.

“When a town applies for funding to repair or replace infrastructure, I review their project plans,” says Victoria Pardo ’14, a historic preservation specialist at FEMA.

“This involves considering potential impacts on above-ground resources, below-ground archaeological resources and historic districts. If the project complies with all laws, regulations and executive orders, the application proceeds and communities receive funding.”

This work takes place in what Pardo calls a “steadier state,” when a natural disaster is not unfolding, or during recovery directly after a storm hits. But these so-called steadier states are becoming more sporadic as disaster events hit more frequently.

Pardo, who majored in architectural studies at Conn and earned a Master of Science in historic preservation at Columbia University, is currently in Florida managing a team in the aftermath of Helene and Milton.

“Once the damage assessments begin, we’re in resilience mode, not rescue. We evaluate the damage, conduct preliminary assessments and speak with historic preservation offices to understand how recovery projects might potentially impact historical resources. We then hold recovery exploratory meetings and conduct site inspections, taking pictures and GPS coordinates of buildings that might need further inspection. This informs the project phase, where we evaluate proposals for compliance.”

These efforts can be perceived as slowing down resilience projects. However, rebuilding is complicated, and news coverage of recovery efforts isn’t as appealing for the media as broadcasting floods, displaced boats, or soaked and wind-blown news reporters during a storm. So, much of the work takes place out of the nation’s view.

FEMA shares the burden of funding recovery far beyond the infamous $750 that was mocked in some media circles after Helene and Milton.

After a few major flooding or wind events, we don’t have to convince anyone of the risks.

— Janan Reilly ’11, Senior climate advisor for Hazard Mitigation Assistance Programs at FEMA

“We have immediate-needs funding of $750 for disaster survivors. But that’s only the tip of the iceberg,” says Reilly. “After a disaster, it’s all about recovery. This involves going door to door to check on survivors and give them information about support. I’ve even worked the phone lines for survivor assistance, talking people through what their opportunities are and giving them the initial steps to take in the days and weeks after a disaster. We also handle debris management on the ground, assessing damage.”

Reilly says that in her role as senior climate advisor, she works to find out how “FEMA can better provide guidance to community members on how to use our grants to improve resilience and how they can use climate science to make better investments.”

Climate science comes from a variety of sources, including federal government data from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association, better known as NOAA; Climate Mapping for Resilience and Adaptation tools; and FEMA’s Community Risk Index.

Climate data also comes from professors like Katy Serafin’08, a coastal scientist who researches extreme events at the University of Florida. Serafin, who majored in environmental studies and was a Goodwin-Niering scholar at Conn and earned a Master of Science and Ph.D. in ocean, Earth and atmospheric sciences at Oregon State University, combines observational data with statistical and numerical models to understand the frequency, drivers and impacts of coastal flooding and erosion events.

“We can expect sea levels to continue to rise, especially in the Gulf of Mexico and the southeast Atlantic,” Serafin says bluntly. “With no coastal management, we can expect our shorelines to continue to erode.”

But management is possible, and even those who publicly deny climate change—including Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis, who recently signed a bill that erases most references to climate change from state law—are beginning to take action.

“We are aware that flooding is an issue and our coastlines are a major part of our economy,” Serafin says. “Sometimes it’s politically charged in the media, but the state of Florida is funding pragmatic resilience grants, including the Resilient Florida Program.”

That legislation was signed in 2021—by DeSantis—to protect Florida’s “inland waterways, coastlines and shores, which serve as invaluable natural defenses against sea level rise.” It marks “the largest investment in Florida’s history to prepare communities for the impacts of sea level rise, intensified storms and flooding,” according to the Florida Department of Environmental Protection. Through the program, the state has awarded nearly $1.5 billion to support 664 planning, implementation and regional resilience entity projects.

At the University of Florida, Serafin has students majoring in all fields taking her courses, which include “Living With Rising Seas,” “Water Risk and Extreme Events” and “Sea Level Science.” That gives her hope for the future.

“Our coastlines will look very different in 100 years,” she says. There is an urgent need for “architects, landscape designers, scientists, engineers and policy makers” to come up with transformative ideas about how to adapt.

“We now have an opportunity to reimagine how we live on the coast,” Serafin says. “It’s difficult to move away from the status quo, but we can rethink how we live with water. Because we have to.”

U.S. Route 21 in Grayson County, Virginia, was impassable after damage from Hurricane Helene. Shutterstock