From losing my home to signing a barn contract with an Amish community.

How a hurricane awakened my desire to save the environment.

PART 1

I never imagined my Florida home could be overtaken by the Gulf of Mexico.

Sure, I’ve read the articles detailing extreme weather events around the world. I’ve seen them, too. But you never imagine that YOUR home, YOUR property, YOUR things could be in the path of one of the most destructive hurricanes to ever hit Florida, let alone the United States.

That’s exactly where I found myself two-years ago, barricaded behind my best friend’s door in Northwest Cape Coral as we prayed we’d make it out of Hurricane Ian alive. Neighbors clocked 200mph wind gusts that ripped decades-old trees straight out of the ground.

The storm hovered over our homes for hours - the warm gulf waters strengthened and stalled it, allowing the storm to cause tens of millions in damage. Not to mention the lives lost and the businesses that never recovered…

We fell asleep to the eerie sound of wind smashing homes as the storm finally died down, reaching for candles in the pitch darkness, sucking down oxygen-less, humid air that we locked in the home when the hurricane windows officially bolted into place nearly 12-hours earlier.

When the sun came out around 7AM, the sights outside made me want to turn the clock back.

I was able to maneuver my Jeep around debris, fallen trees, torn up roads, branches, garbage, cracked earth, and sparking power lines to get my mom to the barn where we kept our family horse. We discovered the barn property was destroyed by a tornado. Figuring the horse didn’t make it through the storm, we started to cry as we haphazardly ran towards her paddock. By God’s grace, she was OK, and went on to live another 18 healthy months before passing away at the ripe old age of 31.

At that point, I was able to hear through the local radio station that the island where my home resided was overtaken by the ocean. It was so bad that the bridge leading to the island was completely washed away. I thought of my neighbors who stayed behind… the local business owners that figured it was just another one of those Florida storms. It wasn’t.

My home clocked in at 4-feet of storm surge. By the time we could hitch a boat ride with locals, the interior had been overtaken by mold. I packed what I could of my belongings into a few garbage bags. That was it.

Only a few months prior, I spent a handsome amount of money on having the property fitted with native Florida plant species.

The bees loved them. The ocean killed nearly everything I had planted in my yard. But one-year later, after I had sold the property, we did a final drive-by, and noticed some of those native plants were making a comeback. Nature is amazing.

Although many of my neighbors did not fare well with their insurance policies, I did.

My home was a total loss - there was no debating it. I received a maxed-out insurance payment by that Christmas (this was also due to the artwork I had laying on the floor in the home at the time of the storm). With the money I received, I had the property gutted and again, by God’s grace, a buyer appeared, snatching the home up for more than I had purchased it back in 2021.

Divinely crazy. I couldn’t explain my sudden good luck.

I felt guilty about this in the month’s to come, watching my mom battle her insurance company for nearly two-years to get a payout for her roof that LEVITATED off the house during the hurricane.

I knew it wasn’t by accident that I was cut free so quickly and abruptly. By June 2023, I was ‘free’ of everything tying me to the state of Florida. So I did what every normal person does who survives at a Category 5 hurricane and the loss of all their belongings… I booked a plane ticket to the United Kingdom.

I spent weeks there on trains, walking around English villages, hiking foot paths, talking to locals in pubs, admiring their native flowers and bees, talking to ponies, capturing it all on video (I should share more of this media), and attempting to write poetry. Not surprisingly, the poetry didn’t come.

I spontaneously opened up a map one day and looked for the most ‘random’ destination I could find in the UK. The Isle of Man jumped out at me, floating out in the middle of the unforgiving Irish Sea.

I Googled the country and discovered there was a ferry out of Liverpool that could get me there.

Fuck it! Off I went.

Alone in the middle of the Irish Sea, I had an epiphany.

God isn’t kidding when he tells you that wandering into the wilderness, alone, allows your soul’s deepest desires to make themselves known. At the time, I was toying with the idea of moving to Europe. Naturally, I wanted to leave the trauma behind and start anew. But wandering around the Isle of Man taught me that no matter where I run to, my experiences will follow me - and maybe that doesn’t have to be such a bad thing? Maybe I experienced them for a reason? Maybe I am supposed to teach others about my epiphanies?

I went inside a Manx (Manx is the term for someone or something from the Isle of Man) pub as the usual dreary weather set in one day. I sat down at the bar and asked for a gin and tonic. A lively Manx gentleman came over to me and said, “I can tell you are American.” I smiled and said, “How do you know?” And he said to me, “You are fearless. You believe you can do anything you set your mind to.”

Me? Fearless? As I fled to a continent 4,000 miles away from my problems.

Well, I guess I was sort of fearless… as a woman measuring only 5 feet 3 inches, alone on an island, with no cell service or ability to drive a car on the lefthand side of the road.

We chatted for awhile. He told me about all of the island’s secrets and the places I needed to visit when I returned in the future. I had no plans at the time to return to the Isle of Man, but for some reason, this man knew I would return one day. I think he is right.

The Isle of Man has fairies on it, by the way.

I am not kidding. Tales for another time. But the entities on the Isle of Man led me on many hikes that introduced me to completely unspoiled nature, overflowing with sweet water, bees, birds, sprites, native plants, warm breezes, glens, and creeks. I continued to explore the rest of the UK like I did the Isle of Man when I returned to the mainland.

One week later, hiking through the Peak District National Park, I sat down with my notebook and a Welsh folklore book I had purchased on a North Wales tour I took the day prior.

I wrote down a hypothesis. Everywhere I had been in the UK, despite the gloomy weather, cold temperatures (in May), and spice-less food (don’t get me wrong, I enjoy some mushy peas, but it is definitely a little lackluster by your second and third plate), I encountered people significantly happier, more content, and more fulfilled than the average American. Now, I wasn’t in Spain or Italy, where people lounge by the Mediterranean and take 2-months off in the summer. I was in the UK where their work-life balance can at time rival Americans.

If it wasn’t the sun exposure or the summers off, what was it?

My hypothesis was as follows:

The presence of native flowers and therefore bees, specifically honeybees and bumblebees, all over the country quite literally raises its vibration. The buzzing from the bees and the positive frequencies coming out of happy flowers that are native to their lands changes the vibration in the air. That vibration permeates the people, villages, and structures, and creates a happiness and whimsy you just don’t find in America.

I know, I know… that sounds crazy. But it’s not. Everything is energy, which means everything has a frequency. You and I both have frequencies. Our vibrations can be lifted up, or pulled down. That’s why beekeepers are the happiest workers in the world. Or why studies have shown that being around happy bees can eradicate illnesses, lower cortisol levels, and improve a person’s overall wellbeing.

I knew what I needed to do.

I needed to take this epiphany and bring it back to the country I love to my core. Americans are dying, suffering from the inside out, trapped in office environments, totally removed from nature. Even worse, when Americans DO occasionally go outside, it’s to mow their lawns, devoid of native flowers, covered in pesticides. These ecological wastelands attract zero pollinators, which means the frequencies our bodies need to be elevated are completely absent in many parts of our country.

I knew it was time for me to go back to Florida.

When I got to the Gulf Coast, I admitted what I had known for years: I wanted to go home. I wanted to go back to Upstate New York and plant my roots. It was time to face my destiny head-on. And so I did.

I packed up my Jeep and drove 20 hours north. I had planned to stay in an Airbnb in Saratoga Springs, New York, only to arrive at the property and find myself in, let’s just say, a very scary situation. I got out of it OK, and faced another fear I had been putting off: signing my name to an official lease agreement. I had been bouncing around Airbnbs, working as a digital nomad for quite some time. No one talks about how easy it is to avoid curating an identity when you spend every waking minute wandering from one destination to the next. It was time to get serious.

I found the perfect apartment in Saratoga Springs the following week. Well, you could say the apartment found me. A woman called me about a unit I never contacted and told me someone was waiting for me outside of it as I sat in my Jeep around the corner. To this day, I am not sure the man who showed me my apartment was human. When the tour was done and I turned around to wave to him on the sidewalk, he was nowhere to be found.

Again, tale for another time. Finally, I had the apartment. Now what?

Well, I have to constantly dramatize my life, so I opened up Zillow. Most people shop for purses or get their nails done. I shop for land. Clearly I have an exploration gene of some kind… for better or for worse.

I clicked ‘vacant lots and lands near me’ and sat back in front of my laptop. The most gorgeous looking land I have ever seen popped up to the top of the feed, located in Schuylerville, New York.

Having engaged in real estate transactions before, I knew that I needed to do a drive-by. Land has an energy to it that can only be experienced in person!

I got in my Jeep and headed due east from my apartment.

“Alex can’t you sit still for one moment?? You JUST moved to a new city. You lost your home. What are you doing?”

Still, I defied my inner monologue and drove. Something told me I needed to get to this land.

As the 6.74 acres appeared over the hill, I felt a restless energy arise in me. I knew I was staring out at my future in some way. I just didn’t know for what.

Build it and they will come.

I heard this message over and over again in my head as my feet planted onto the land.

Build it and they will come.

“Build what? And who is coming? Me??? I have never built a thing a day in my life. I have zero development or architectural experience. You must have the wrong person.”

I sat there for awhile on the side of my Jeep. I glanced around at the surrounding properties. Everything looked kosher. No meth dens, chained up dogs, or destructive sounds in the distance. The road it was on was so quiet. Hardly any cars came by.

It was a sunny July day, not too hot. As I sat there completely perplexed by the state of my life, I snapped out of my disassociation.

There it was, the buzzing.

The buzzing was everywhere. I was surrounded. There were so many bees pollinating the native flowers around me that I felt my nervous system immediately sink into a state of peace. It was a peacefulness I dare say I had never felt in my life.

I knew what I needed to do next. I got a loan for the land (shout out Farm Credit East), found a real estate agent, and put in an offer. Two-months later and the land was mine.

I drove from the closing to the property and sat on the edge of my Jeep again. Now what?

“Well… I suppose I need a driveway? Who do I call to ask about driveways? Would the company be called a ‘driveway company?’ Should I put a structure on the land? I don’t even have electricity at the road yet… oh Lord.”

I spent the next week pondering what I wanted to do next. The list of things overwhelmed my brain out of its natural creative state. After exploring options that felt very bland to me, I got in my Jeep and drove to a prefabricated shed store one-hour away. I figured seeing some options in person may help my brain decide on what’s next.

I looked at sheds, greenhouses, and prefab barns. I liked what I saw, but I knew it wasn’t right still. I walked inside the onsite store and asked the owner, ‘do you recommend anyone to put in a gravel driveway?’

He stared at me and laughed.

“You’re going to need to give me more information than that,” he said.

“Well, I need a driveway for my undeveloped land. There’s nothing on it and the property is very overgrown.”

He grinned and walked over to a stack of business cards. I knew he thought was a moron, but that’s ok.

He came over to me with a business card to BluRail Excavating. “Here, take this. They’re the best in the game. They can help you,” he said smiling.

A business card was better than nothing, I thought. And they came recommended by a man who owns a seemingly successful prefab business.

I drove home and called the number. No answer. I left a message.

I’ll never forget the next day when a number my phone did not recognize called me back. “Hi there, this is Sam with BluRail Excavating. We got your call.”

Now, this wasn’t just any call. If you’ve never spoken to an Amish person, then you would not know about their accents. They speak a Dutch/German dialect as their native tongue, which means English is not their first language. Their accents are a combination of Dutch and old English, like you’re talking to a person who jumped in a time machine from the year 1688.

I was so taken aback by the accent that I blanked for a second. “Uh, um, yes, hello! Yes this is Alex. I am the one who called you.”

My brain was quickly processing that I was talking to someone who does not live in typical American society. My first thought was that I was speaking to a Quaker. My next thought was that it must be a Mennonite if they were using a phone.

Amish don’t use phones, right? Mennonites are the modern ones??

(Don’t worry, I said this in my head and not to dear Sam on the phone.)

“Yes can you tell me more about the driveway and where you are located. We are in Canajoharie, New York,” said Sam.

Me, struggling to understand what he had just said since they do not enunciate in American English whatsoever: “Sure, the property is in Schuylerville, New York. I need a gravel driveway. There is nothing on the land right now. There are no utilities, nothing.”

“Ok, and how many feet do you want the driveway to be?”

I had ZERO concept of driveway footage at this point. I had no idea what he was asking. Panicking and covered in cold sweat, sitting on my apartment balcony, I blurted out, “Uhhh, 300 feet!”

“Thanks, I will discuss with the team and get back to you. Tell me your name and phone number again please,” said Sam, very seriously (I later learned Sam was the head honcho, the big man in charge. He is also one of the most honorable men I have ever met in my entire life. I am proud to know him).

“It’s Alex Fasulo, spelled F as in Frank, A, S as in Sam, U, L, O.”

The pause told me my Italian last name probably threw him for a loop.

“Thanks,” he said. Click. The call was over.

A few days went by and I didn’t hear back from them. The following week I took matters into my own hands and called him back. “Hiya, this is Sam,” he said, unenthusiastically.

“Hi Sam, this is Alex from Schuylerville calling about the driveway,” I said.

“Yep, hi Alex. We will come to you to give you a quote for the driveway. How’s next week?”

“Uh, next week is perfect! That’s great,” I stuttered.

“I will call you again about timing, thanks,” he said as he hung up.

The free quote that changed my social media forever.

The following week, a pickup truck wrapped in ‘BluRail Excavating’ parked across the street from my land. I was already there, promptly ahead of them as someone who is anal about being early to things.

I am not sure what I expected to see that day. What I ended up sneakily filming changed my life, their lives, and possibly social media forever.

For part two, you will have to subscribe! Coming next week.

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