Neighbors are helping neighbors after Hurricane Ian

Bryan Meyer cuts the engines of his 22-foot bay boat as mud starts to kick up at least 100 yards offshore of Pine Island, one of the worst Hurricane Ian-ravaged communities in Florida.

With no way to get closer — the boat's depth sensor is measuring 1.5 feet — Dee Brennan jumps into the waist-deep, murky water and asks for the care package to deliver to friends cut off from the mainland — a 12-pack of Bud Lite.

"Precious cargo," she jokes, then tells her husband, James, like her a native of the island, that she'll meet him after he drops off more provisions, including some for themselves. She pauses, turns and calls back: "Hey, this ain't a foot and a half deep!"

Meyer, of Lee County, grew up on the island and now does these daily relief trips for free. He said he'll keep making daily trips as he can afford it.

"Fuel's expensive, but, you know, I'm going to keep doing this as long as I can," he said.

Barely a week after Ian made landfall in Southwest Florida, the region has seen an outpouring of support, particularly from residents who themselves are weathering the storm's aftermath.

Often it's neighbors helping neighbors. Sometimes it's family members who have come in from far-flung parts of the region. Others have joined up with charity groups providing much-needed aid and comfort.

Kay Hayden lost her job at the Lazy Flamingo restaurant on Sanibel Island when the storm and flooded waters flattened it, and many other buildings on that luxury resort island.

One mercy: Her North Fort Myers home was largely unscathed. With nothing to do and on a whim she joined a Red Cross/Baptists on Mission partnership to deliver food to the area.

"I can't just sit at home. I've gotta do stuff," said Hayden, who had previously volunteered with the Red Cross before starting a family nearly 20 years ago. "I didn't know what else to do. So that's what I did."

The group on Monday delivered 500 meals to the Cape Coral community. Hayden said many people are still afraid to leave their homes and were hungry. Many hadn't adequately prepared for Hurricane Ian because many assumed it would miss this region, she said.

Among them was Gil Garcia, who rode out the storm from his Cape Coral home, which lost part of its roof.

"I just went out to look for some food and I saw this, and I go, 'Oh my God! A blessing!"

In downtown Fort Myers, where floodwaters severely local businesses, stacked yachts like toys and scattered debris for blocks, 69-year-old James DeCaro was on day two of sweeping up debris inside Mason's Famous Lobster Roll's, a fairly new but previously thriving business in this tourist spot.

His stepson owns the business but was out of town during the storm. So James, a Brooklyn native and retiree, drove in about three hours away from Davenport, Florida to help with the cleanup.

The family says they'll be ready to do takeout service by the end of the week. Sitdown eating may take a bit longer, he said. At least three feet of water covered the inside of the restaurant, and it's going to need a deep cleaning, DeCaro said. Still, they're optimistic.

"My son's an entrepreneur," DeCaro said. "This is his passion."

For some, clean-up was not an option. Only recovery.

Caleb Darling, who lost his rental on Fort Myers Beach, helped his buddy Blake Wagner on Monday comb through the remnants of his mobile home rental near the now-destroyed Gulf Star Marina. A tree broke the home in two, forcing Wagner to snake his way through the wreckage to look for any salvageable belongings.

Both he and his daughter had fled before the storm came. In the end, he found two pairs of soggy jeans and his guitar. He took solace in the fact that he has renter's insurance. He knows he's lucky.

"I mean, I only left because I had so much family freaking out," Wagner said. "And I had my daughter, and I was, like, all right, I'll play it safe."

Often people need more than just food and water. Losing one's home and belonging is a transformative event that can affect people for years to come, said Bruce Norgard, a Red Cross spiritual counselor. He was posted at a shelter in Bonita Springs for anyone who needed his help.

"I try to help people remember that they may feel helpless now but that's not going to last forever," Norgard said. "It's also a lot of sitting and just listening to people."