Residents of Sarasota’s barrier islands and coastal communities are turning to recovery efforts in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene. Many expected the massive storm, which was miles offshore when it rumbled by the Suncoast, to leave Sarasota unscathed.

Instead, the storm delivered a devastating blow to our waterfront communities. 

With unexpected storm surge and flooding affecting the entire region—from Holmes Beach to Casey Key and beyond—homeowners and business owners say they're shocked by the devastation, but ready to rebuild. And despite the destruction, a strong sense of community is emerging as neighbors band together to help.

Ashley Petrone, Fox Mercantile and Joie Inn

Ashley Petrone, who lives on Longboat Key with her husband and four children, owns Joie Inn on Gulf Drive in Holmes Beach and Fox Mercantile on Cortez Road.  

“We were stunned,” Petrone says, recounting the moment her family first saw the effects of the floodwaters on their businesses. “We put appliances on cinder blocks after the last storm, but nothing could have prepared us for what we faced this time.”

Storm surge from Helene flooded Fox Mercantile with 4 feet of water, which displaced furniture, including a 1,000-lb. table, appliances and more.

“It’s overwhelming," Petrone says of taking stock of the damage. "You don’t know where to start. You have to shut that part of your brain off and just start picking things up."

On Friday morning, Petrone was finally able to access her four-unit Joie Inn on Holmes Beach. It was a muddy wasteland. Storm surge had flooded two lower units, and the garage—previously a storage space for linens and inventory—was filled with sludge that ruined countless items.

“The rooms were filled with slimy sand. It killed all the furniture,” Petrone says. 

The hurricane also disrupted the lives of her 15 employees, many of whom stepped up to help clean up. Even customers came to lend a hand. 

“On day one, landscapers who were our customers came with their trucks to clean the yard," Petrone says. "Neighbors brought lunches and food. The community has come together in a way that’s really heartwarming."

Petrone estimates damage from the storm to be between $100,000 and $200,000. While she has insurance, the contents of the buildings are not covered. Still, she says, “we want to push to open at least for coffee at Fox Mercantile, as that’s a gathering point for us. The inn will take more time." 

She's not alone. "So many businesses have damage, and there’s nowhere to go right now," she says of the state of the barrier islands.

As Petrone and her family sift through the wreckage, they’re sad but optimistic “It’s not just one person suffering," she says of her fellow island business owners. "We’re in it together. We will rebuild. We’ve got this."

"The tourists will come back; they always do," she continues. "At some point, we need to show that life goes on."

Greg Dunley, Raised Here Charters

Greg Dunley, owner of Raised Here Charters, whose family has owned a property on Casey Key since the 1970s, has been tasked with saving the small beach house behind his family's main home.

“When the storm surge came, the waves broke across the street, from Gulf to bay,” he recalls. His father narrowly avoided disaster away when he stepped outside during the storm to check on the property.  “He almost got washed out,” Dunley says.

Dunley's family’s small beach home on the Gulf side of the island is now filled with eight feet of sand; its windows were also blown out. The last standing Australian pine on the property fell, too.

“The sand is so high, I could step up on the roof,” Dunley says. 

The logistical hurdles to recovery are many, especially since the island is basically inaccessible. “We need to get the sand out, then apply for permits for remodeling,” he says. “But the road closest to the beach is covered in three feet of sand. Unless you have a large four-wheel drive [vehicle], you can’t even access your house.”

Dunley, who lives in Venice just 10 minutes south of the Casey Key property, brought a generator to help his family after the storm. He and his friends also began clearing the sand from the roads and their properties.

“The plan was to get the sand out of the beach house, so we brought equipment [we borrowed] from friends in landscaping—shovels, wheelbarrows, a tractor and a skid steer,” he says. “I met a woman who couldn’t get out, so I scraped out the sand in front of her car away so she could leave."

And he's quick to dispel people's perceptions that all of Casey Key's residents are affluent. “People think we have money, but my grandparents bought [our property] for cheap, in the '70s, when no one wanted to live out here,” he says. “If we sold, we’d never be able to live on the water again at today’s prices. I grew up on the water. My business is on the water. This is how we live.” 

With only one road in and out of Casey Key, Dunley urges outsiders—or "disaster tourists"—who are coming to document the destruction to stop.

“Don’t do this just so you can post it on your social media and get clicks. I live here," he says. Entering the island to gawk at the damage also disrupts recovery and, sometimes, causes even more issues. “Everyone coming [onto the island] was getting their cars stuck in the sand," he says, "and I'd be stuck behind someone who I had to tow out.”

Lourdes Ramirez, Activist

Lourdes Ramirez, who has lived on Siesta Key for 25 years, took stock of Helene's devastation not just by sight, but also by smell.

“Siesta smells like dead fish. There’s a rotted smell everywhere,” she says. “We hardly had any rain, but the storm surge caught us off guard. We ran to a neighbor’s two-story house as the water rose up nearly to my hips in just minutes.”

Three feet of water flooded her home, and Ramirez now faces the task of salvaging belongings and navigating the uncertain path ahead. Despite sandbagging everything, they lost two cars. She hired a remediation company to remove big items that were ruined, but she's also worried about how businesses and tourism will fare. 

“The economic impact will be significant. There’s a lot of desperation,” she says. "The key lost a lot of rental property too.”

On Thursday, the night Helene roared by Sarasota, Ramirez says she that by 9:15 p.m., she thought she'd dodged a bullet. Then the lights went out, and she noticed water trickling into her backyard, rapidly rising. She and her husband fled to a neighbor’s two-story home for safety.

“We spent the night on the outdoor second-level patio, exposed to the elements but grateful for the roof," Ramirez says.

As the water receded, the scope of Helene's damage became clear. “My neighbors had three to four feet of water in their homes,” she says. “My single-story house is 51 years old, and we had to remove everything from four feet high down. Most things have to be gutted."

She says that most Siesta Key residents she's talked to say their houses are uninhabitable. "A few friends might be able to live on second stories," she says. “The cleanup has started, but I think this week will feel like one big landfill.” Already, piles of furniture and debris are lining the streets. And, she adds, “We’ll all be competing for contractors.”

Then there's the emotional impact of the storm. The trauma and disbelief are palpable as residents navigate the recovery process. “There’s a sense of despair," Ramirez says. "You feel like you don’t know what you’re doing because it's hard to know where to start."

Still, despite the challenges, her neighbors are banding together to help each other clear debris and restore their homes. “I’ve received about 15 offers from friends with room for us to stay,” she says. “It’s heartwarming to feel that kind of support.”

While recovery will take time—possibly as long as six months, Ramirez estimates—there's a determination to rebuild, too. “This is my home. I’m staying,” she says. 

A vocal advocate of protecting Siesta Key from large-scale hotel developments, Hurricane Helene is a bitter "I told you so" moment for Ramirez, who has continually tried to educate the public about the effects of a hurricane on hundreds of potential hotel guests who try to evacuate and wind up getting caught in dire straits. 

“I’m going to keep talking about it at commission meetings," she says. "Now we have the case study. It’s not just a hypothetical."

Ross Schilling

“This was the nastiest slaw water,” says Ross Schilling, a long-time local and owner of six properties in the area, referring to the stench of stagnant water from Siesta Key's Heron Lagoon and saltwater from the Gulf. Helene's storm surge breached the lagoon, pushing water into the neighborhoods along Midnight Pass Road and destroying homes in the process.

Schilling, a music manager and investor who moved back to Siesta Key full-time in 2020 after spending time in Nashville, says that four of his six properties have significant flood damage. “It’s devastating to see everyone displaced,” he says, noting that his own home suffered flooding in all three of its garages, resulting in the loss of three cars and other valuables. “A game room is gone, and my pool is destroyed. The water flowed around the house like rapids.”

At one point, Schilling found himself wading through water to help a neighbor when an electrical fire erupted in a van parked in the neighbor's driveway.

“It was toxic smoke,” he says. “I called 911, but they couldn’t get here. We didn't have running water, so I couldn’t use a hose to put it out. I had to slam the door [to the van shut] and hope it smothered itself out.”

Despite Schilling's experience with hurricanes—he weathered Hurricane Ian in 2022 without significant damage—he admits he's never seen storm surge like this. But with a decade of experience managing rock bands and working in the entertainment industry, Schilling quickly switched to damage control mode. By Friday, he and his friends were already gutting his properties, running generators and pressure washing everything to mitigate further damage. Schilling's sister also faced a total loss at her longtime St. Armands Circle business, Foxy Lady, and he's working to help her, as well.

As residents began to clear debris from their homes, Schilling says he saw a mix of shock and determination. “In the first couple of days, I talked to neighbors more than I ever had,” he says. “People were dumbfounded. I told them they needed to get stuff out of their houses, otherwise it would mold up.”

He acknowledges that the storm will impact tourism, with higher rental rates expected as many properties remain uninhabitable. “My goal is to have [my rental properties] ready by Christmas, but it’s daunting,” he admits. “It depends on resources and whether people have to wait on insurance checks. Another X-factor will be the county and permits.”

Still, he says, “I love this island. I’m heavily invested here. By the end of day three, my properties were gutted and ready for insurance assessment. I want to bring back tourism; we want people to come back.”