CAPTIVA - Over on Binder Lane, a vacation cottage that once sat at the edge of the water now sits in the water, a heap of wood and shingles.
The towering Australian pines that shaded the quiet streets of Captiva Island are gone. So is the feeling that this small paradise is immune to devastation.
Hurricane Charley hit this small sliver of sand hard.
Up and down the barrier islands of Lee County, residents Wednesday were allowed to return to their homes and businesses. Some found relief, others heartache.
Five days had passed since Charley tore through this slice of Florida's west coast, and the bridges to Captiva, Sanibel and Fort Myers Beach had remained closed.
On Wednesday, lines of cars started forming at 5 a.m., a procession of people aching to return and survey the damage.
None of the islands fared worse than Captiva, home to multimillion-dollar vacation homes and a playground to the rich. The hurricane sheared off rooftops, shattered windows and uprooted thousands of trees. It blew a cottage into the bay, mangled boats and crumpled pool enclosures.
"I'm in shock," said Bob Sabatino, 67, a charter boat captain who works on Captiva and lived on the island for 35 years before moving to Sanibel. "It's a different place. If you drove the (main) road before and then drive it today, it's like you're on a different island."
Down every street sat reminders that no amount of money can stop nature's strength.
"It's beyond words," said Steve Jackelias, 66, who owns an art gallery on the island, as he visited a friend whose home was covered in fallen trees. "It'll take a lot of time. There's a lot of hearts to heal."
The sadness felt different than farther north in Charlotte County, where Charley flattened mobile homes and took lives. Many houses on Captiva belong to out-of-town millionaires who have the means to fix the damage.
The home of the island's most famous resident appeared to be fine. The white, beachfront mansion and studio of renowned artist Robert Rauschenberg weathered the storm with only minor damage.
Rauschenberg didn't answer a knock on the door Wednesday, but a FedEx delivery man said, "I know who you're looking for, and he's okay."
Farther south, Sanibel appeared the least damaged of the barrier islands. Thousands of trees remained down, but most of the island's homes and businesses survived without major damage.
Getting roads cleared "was our biggest problem," said Sanibel city council member and former mayor Steve Brown. Eighty percent of Sanibel's pool enclosures are gone.
Some residents in Fort Myers Beach weren't so lucky.
Tisha Staley, 48, and her husband, Walter, found their home's roof stripped to the plywood. Water poured in, and the house reeked of mildew.
"We lost everything," Staley said, crying.
A few streets away, Sue and John Schmitt returned to the island to find their home destroyed, too. The house behind them had caught fire during the storm and burned to the ground, apparently from a lightning strike.
The winds pushed the flames into their home, leaving it charred and ruined.
"Every element hit this place," John Schmitt said. "What can you say? It's all gone."
For all the heartache, many people seemed genuinely glad to be home, even without power or water.
On Captiva, "the duck floats," said Mucky Duck Restaurant partner Victor Mayeron. "It lost a few feathers, but all in all we're going to be just fine."
The well-known Bubble Room restaurant came through the storm with the building damaged and covered with debris, but intact.
At the Surf Club bar off Estero Avenue on Fort Myers Beach, the regulars began to shuffle in again. Sarah served beer, vodka and rum. Bruce ambled around, shaking hands. Gary told of trying to swim home and getting stopped by police.
Wahoo Willie's, a beachside restaurant, offered regulars a limited "Hurricane Charley Menu." A poster on the restaurant's door still advertised an end-of-summer party planned for last Saturday.
It read: "Don't miss all the fun!"
The owner took a picture of the poster. To remember.
Times staff writer Janet Keeler contributed to this report.
