It started off­ as just another Wednesday morning. Hurricane Matthew swirled out in the Atlantic, but inside the Flamingo offices, brains were storming, writing headlines and editing copy, paying no mind to the tropical cyclone headed for Florida. We had blown off­ earlier reports because our area had not been hit by a serious hurricane in more than 50 years. Then a text message from a friend popped up on my phone: “Are you evacuating?”

A little extreme, I thought, and kept sipping my co­ffee.

Then a push notification came through that area schools were cancelled for the next two days. But a few weeks earlier, schools had been canceled for a hurricane, and it didn’t even rain at our house. This time would be no di­fferent—or so I thought.

That afternoon, as the winds picked up, so did the warnings from rain-jacket-clad local officials: “leave now!”

Words like “catastrophic,” “100-year storm” and “deadly” were zipping across the internet. One weatherman choked up on air during his plea for people to leave.

Rightly, we decided to fly the coop, situated o­ of A1A, one mile west of the Atlantic Ocean. We quickly unplugged the computers, stacked boxes of our first three issues on top of desks and rolled up our favorite zebra rug. Then two other editors and I hugged and promised to keep each other posted on our plans for evacuation. We closed the door to the “Roost,” as we call it, and went to tend to our families and houses and leave the beach, not knowing what we would find when we returned a couple of days later.

The whole state tuned in to watch weather reports, as Matthew made his way up the coastline, wreaking havoc along the way before unleashing most of his force on the beaches and towns north of Daytona and even washing away portions of A1A near Flagler Beach.

Matthew surprised and spared us by veering a few harrowing miles o­ shore. Most of us made it through the storm unscathed, with little more than yard debris to clean up. But many of our neighbors to the north and south, including one of our contributors, lost homes to the rising waters of the Atlantic and the Intracoastal.

The wrath of Matthew, not to mention Hermine earlier this year, reminds us that just as Mother Nature gives, she takes away. As much as she hurts, she also helps. And Floridians know better than anyone how to rebound, reconnect and reopen our doors to neighbors and visitors after the storm clouds have cleared.

Our winter issue celebrates the greatness of the Florida outdoors, from lobstering and fishing in the Keys to dining on farms in the countryside, saving the manatees in Crystal River and kicking up dust on the polo fields of Wellington. In this issue, we also introduce two new departments: Florida Wild, a photography column by Carlton Ward Jr., a National Geographic Explorer, who captures moving images deep in the Florida wilderness; and Fledglings, a showcase for up-and-coming musicians and their curated playlists.

With hurricane season officially behind us, the sun on our faces and that slight winter chill in the air (or a balmy 70-degree ocean breeze in Miami), we dedicate this issue to Florida and all her natural splendor.