September 1: Some Final Thoughts on Irene

Usually, I post a picture of my clematis vine on the 1st of each month.  But the vine didn't flourish this summer, and it seems rather pointless to post a photo of a dead vine.  Plus, the hurricane's actions in my yard rather eclipses the vine.   With a nod to tradition, I'm posting a last picture of the vine and organizing some final thoughts about Hurricane Irene.

Until we lost power, I live-blogged the hurricane, while my friend T and I waited it out and JT slept.  As I re-read what I wrote, what doesn't come through is the way the storm sounded.  It would simply be easy to say that I can confirm that a hurricane is much scarier in the dark, but that doesn't really sum up how it felt.  As the rain grew stronger and the wind came up, the storm was a howler.  With the sounds of the rain and wind were the sounds of tree branches coming down, of power lines collapsing and trees falling over.  Amidst it all were the sounds of sirens.  The darkness made the sounds even more menacing: we could hear the destruction but couldn't always tell what was happening.  I didn't feel we were alone in the storm; all night long, township authorities drove the streets, on the lookout for trouble and careful to ensure our collective safety.  Even so, it was abundantly clear that Mother Nature was running this show.

JT was a trooper.  When the storm began, we tied him on the porch to pretend that he was a Weather Channel reporter. 

Before the storm really took hold, he played outside.  Once the darkness and driving rain arrived, he was happy to be indoors.  He went to sleep with little anxiety, leaving T and I to man the ship.  We watched the telly to check the weather report.  We also kept one ear on the sounds outside.  When the National Weather Service issued tornado watches, we organized our supplies should a quick run to the basement be in order. 

At 1 am, we tried to get some shut eye.  It was uneasy rest, frequently interrupted by the sounds outside (including the siren used to call the volunteer fire force; it rang endlessly).  Around 3 am, water begin to seep into my basement.  As I debated what to do (I don't have an installed sump pump and can't pump the water out until some of it has risen up), the electricity went out, thus sealing the deal on that question.  We grabbed some sleep around then, but it was the anxious kind, frequently interrupted by events outside.  Our best rest came in the early morning hours, as the storm began to wind down and the light came up.  I was so glad to be with a capable friend as the storm blew itself out.

Come the morning, there was faint sun to accompany the last of the blowing winds.  There was water in the basement, a lake in the back yard, and branches came down all over the yard and neighborhood.  At my house, we didn't get damage so much as we got a mess. 

Pesky the backyard squirrel had holed up in the dogwood tree.  I missed a photo of him all curled up, but did catch this morning yawn.  I think Pesky had a rough night.

 The same can be said of other streets in my neighborhood.  Trees fell over.

Cars were crushed.

 The town Little League field flooded and the picnic tables and a few cars floated out with the water onto a main street in town.  This street remained flooded until Monday.

We took a walk around mid-day on Sunday and though the rain had stopped, the wind still exerted itself.  This branch fell just after we walked away from the sidewalk. 

In my yard, after the first round of cleanup, the wind blew down another branch that came down like a jousting stick, puncturing a 4 inch hole in the yard. 

Another large branch from old man tree came down the next day. 

The electricity came back on Tuesday.  The basement is cleared of water and drying out.  We re-stocked the fridge yesterday.  Today, it looks like the hot water heater will be back in business.  Later in the week, I'll see how the washer and dryer fared.  Post-storm, the weather has been lovely and serene, luring me back into a kind of complacency.  But in the quiet of the evenings since the storm, if I still myself, I can still hear that roar of stormy certainty: Mother Nature runs the show, my friends, and we'd best take care of her Earth.