Fall Storm

Five years ago this weekend, Hurricane Sandy arrived in our corner of New Jersey.  I thought of it yesterday, when a much smaller Nor’easter storm blew through the state.  My experience with Sandy means that I don’t take any storm for granted.  I am prepared, with charged electronics, a full tank of gas,  extra food, and emergency numbers at the ready.  Yesterday’s storm was more of the garden variety storm we frequently experience, with plenty of rain and wind.  Because there was no trouble, it was pretty to look outside the windows and watch the wet leaves flutter to the ground.  

I’m always glad when storms like this don’t result in problems and are just nice to admire.

Yesterday’s Nor’easter was the sort of storm to make a pot of chili and grab a cozy blanket while scrolling through our DVR options.  I’m grateful for storms like this, where there’s no enduring trouble, and we take the time to cuddle up and enjoy the day.  At this busy time of year, a lazy day is always welcome.

Hurricane Journal: Sandy at One Year

As the one-year anniversary of Superstorm Sandy has approached, my local public radio station has  been asking listeners "how is your life different since the storm?"  My first response to the question was to consider that nothing had really fundamentally changed.  My home wasn't damaged beyond repair, my life and my town were not completely upended.  Within a few weeks of the storm, I no longer startled when the electricity flashed.  I quickly resumed a normal life.

Upon reflection, though, I realize that it's rather a new normal.  In my daily life, I still see evidence of the storm.  Everywhere I go are trees and branches now down for good; wides swaths of the woods now different.  On virtually every street I drive each day are power lines that have been re-hung since the storm.  On my street and many streets all around me are homes in the midst of repair.  I am more aware than ever that my share of the storm damage was both limited and small.  I am incredibly grateful for that blessing.  In the bigger picture, when I hear stories of weather apocalypse elsewhere, I am immediately on alert and sympathetic to the meaning of such events in people's daily lives.  I never see a power crew, whether in-state or out-of-state, without waving a friendly greeting.  I check the weather forecast and pay careful attention to forecasts that may deviate from normal.  My emergency supplies are up-to-date.  So life is back to normal but it is a new normal.

I'm also aware that neither my state nor my local government has done enough to prepare for the next super-storm.   There is half-hearted recognition of climate change around here, though no conversations or specific plans to adjust our lives to it or, heaven-forbid, change our lives to protect the planet.  Billions of dollars have been spent on Sandy repairs but a lot of practical preparation for the larger community is yet un-done.  On the Jersey shore, people are still demanding to live in flood-prone areas (and they want government-subsidized and cheap flood insurance to do so).  In the meantime, plenty of middle-class folks are still struggling to effect repairs to their flood-damaged homes and businesses.  Our state has only recently developed a plan for getting back-up electricity to gas stations or towns in the event of widespread power losses.  Few details of that plan have been shared with the public.  There has been no state-wide conversation about household disaster readiness.  

What has changed for me since Sandy is that I know we must do all of these things.  We must adjust our lives to the reality of climate change.  I remember how tenuous civilization feels in the face of disaster.  I see that we have a great deal of work to complete.

Weather PTSD

Earlier this week was the three month anniversary of Hurricane Sandy's landfall in this region.  All week, my local public radio station, WNYC, has had stories about the storm and its continuing aftermath.  Down the street from my house, a home partially destroyed in the storm is finally being repaired.  In my neighborhood, recovery is happening.

Even so, there is evidence of the storm everywhere I look, from the stumps of downed trees to the piles of brush and brambles.  There are downed trees in the woods around me.  In the evening, as I turn on the lights with ease, I sometimes pause and remember the cold and darkness of those days last fall.

Last week, it was freezing cold.  This week, temperatures kept warming.  Yesterday, it was in the 50s and this morning we had a humid day with temps near 60.  My neighbors and I, bringing recycling bins in from the curb, stopped to enjoy a chat in the evening's unusual warmth.

As we agreed that the warmth felt lovely, R, a native to New Jersey, pointed out that this kind of warmth in the winter never ends well.  He's right, of course.  Right on cue, there are wind, flood, and hazardous weather warnings for the overnight.  A powerful cold front may bring us as much as 3 inches of rain in 12 hours, rain that can't possibly be absorbed by frozen ground.  It's expected to be accompanied by gusting winds of up to 60 mph.  There's yet another risk of power outages, both because of the threatening weather and because many of us are using power lines that are still awaiting permanent structural repairs from last fall's storm.   PSE&G, my amazing local utility, sent out tweets and e-mails to remind us of their emergency response measures.  I am charging my cell phone and the other electronics.  I filled my car with gas.  My emergency supplies are in order, as they always are these days.  I'm not expecting a problem, but neither am I ever inclined to take risks or take things for granted.  I am prepared.  And that is the residual effect of Hurricane Sandy, a kind of low-level vigilance that Mother Nature demands these days.

Thursday morning update: For a few hours in the middle of the night, the storm was quite windy (of the sustained 40 mph variety).  Naturally, that led to sleeplessness on my part.  But I awakened to a home with electricity, for which I was grateful.  Cable and internet are out and JT is not amused.  I am more sanguine and just glad that most of the storm is over.  This morning's winds are less fierce and the rain has mostly stopped, though winter has returned.  It was 58 degrees when I got up at 5:30 am; right now, at just after 8 am, it's 46 degrees.

Hurricane Journal: Final Thoughts

Hurricane Sandy descended upon New Jersey one month ago today.  Weeks later, reading over my hurricane journal from the benefit of a warm, well-lit house, it seems like our experience was rather a penny crisis.  No one in my family was hurt and the damage to my house was both cosmetic and minor.  My friends also fared well.  Though my county was among the hardest hit, people in nearby areas like the Jersey Shore and Staten Island had far greater damage.  The state of New Jersey estimates that the storm caused more than 30 billion dollars worth of damage but I don't need that number to factor the devastation caused by the storm.   Every day I see stands of once-familiar woods rendered permanently changed by the sheer volume of trees felled.  Every street in my neighborhood features houses with damage, piles of branches, or trees chopped into firewood and stacked neatly.  My 8 cold dark days are more toward the long end of the electricity-free spectrum but on November 11, when I first started preparing these notes to post on my blog, more than 1,000 homes and businesses in New Jersey remained without power, not counting the homes on the shore that are destroyed for good or will remain inaccessible for months to come.  We were lucky and we are blessed.

Even so, I'm struck by the number of conversations about the storm that I still hear.  I am aware of the way some of the fear and anxiety of a week spent in the darkness and cold can linger.  When I finally took the plunge and drove to get heat and a semblance of normalcy on day six after the storm, I was still seriously concerned about the gasoline shortages.  My car was the only way I could charge my phone and our only sure way of getting warm, not to mention get out of the state should it come to that.  To let the gas tank get below half seemed risky.  Even six days after the storm, dozens of traffic lights remained down and most of my regular routes out of town were blocked off.  

For days after the storm, I would see power crews from other states and the sight of these fleets of trucks would bring sudden tears to my eyes.  I've written their names down, these strangers from states far away from New Jersey.  I saw trucks from Ohio, Connecticut, Illinois, Missouri, Mississippi, North Carolina, and Iowa.  A crew from Nebraska was responsible for re-connecting the wires at T's house.  I'm not sure I can express how much hope the sight of these crews inspired in me.  They were a welcome reminder that we weren't alone and that help was on the job.  I know it sounds corny, but I wrote the names of the companies down and I've sent every one of them a note to say thank you.   

I am more convinced than ever that extreme weather conditions like Sandy will be more common as we move forward.  I have enduring hope that as New Jersey and the area resumes its new normal, we will take action to prepare ourselves for our changing planet.  Updating the power grid, disaster preparedness, and responsible policies to curb global warming seem like such obvious policies to adopt.  I've long-favored them, of course, but these days the issue has risen to the top of my political priorities.  I suspect that I'm not alone.

Hurricane Journal: In Search of Warmth

Early after the storm, my sister tried to persuade me to get in the car and drive to a hotel room in Philadelphia.  I resisted, worried about the cats and my home.  As word of gas shortages spread, I also fretted about keeping my gas tank full, since starting the car was one surefire way to charge my cell phone and get warm.  In hindsight, my anxiety about keeping the car fueled was unwarranted.  The tank never got below half and I can drive 400 miles on a single tank of gas.  But at the time, we saw gas station lines that had more than 100 cars and dozens of folks with gas cans in hand also waiting.  The concern didn't seem unreasonable.

On Saturday night, tired of the cold (the house hovered at just below 50 degrees) and fearing the arrival of early darkness (we turned back the clocks that evening), I had a melt-down on the phone with T.  She over-ruled my gas concern and persuaded me to pack up our electronics and laundry and hit the road in search of warmth and electricity come the morning.  That's exactly what we did on Sunday, November 4th.

On that late date, five days after the storm, I still couldn't drive any of my regular routes because of downed power lines and fallen trees blocking the roads.  When I finally got to the R-K family, who live in a county without gas rationing, I was able to easily fill my gas tank.  That experience renewed my confidence that it would all be okay.  The combination of adult companionship, electricity, warmth, and laundry facilities made for a lovely day.  Realizing that cold nights at home were much more bearable when accompanied by more normalized days, I immediately made plans to seek warmth for the Monday, .

JT and I waited until well after dark to head home on Sunday evening and as we drove into our neighborhood, we could see that electricity had been restored for some of the blocks in town, though our street was still electricity-free.  We would repeat that experience the next night as well and it was excruciating to get ever closer to home only to find our block bathed in darkness.  

On Tuesday, our third day on the road for warmth and our eighth day without electricity, JT and I went out to breakfast in the morning.  It was my birthday and I was determined to celebrate.  I voted and then we scored a birthday cake and headed to friends for the afternoon.  We had plans to make supper together, eat birthday cake, and watch election returns.  That evening, as Barack Obama moved closer to re-election, I got text messages from friends in town: We had electricity!  I called my answering machine to be sure (it's old-fashioned and operates with electricity) and when I heard my voice on the 4th ring, I was thrilled.  I didn't tell JT, figuring that he would welcome the surprise.  That evening, as we drove home, still more blocks in our town had electricity.  Just a few blocks from our house, well after 9 pm, we saw a half-dozen trucks from an Ohio power company still at work on the power lines.  JT, determined not to be disappointed, announced, "we probably still don't have power."

As we pulled onto our street, front-porch lights and street lamps seemed brighter than usual.  I looked over at JT and could see that he was in disbelief.  As we pulled into the driveway, we could see the cats in the front window.  Behind them was the light from the lamp I  leave on a timer.  JT said, "Oh, Mama," and we hurried inside to light.  We turned on the furnace and soon the radiators were creaking with warmth.  We settled on the sofa with mugs of hot chocolate and stayed up late into the night, bathed in light, warmth, and electoral victory.  For a day that began rather bleak and cold, it ended on a high note.  The next day would give me the opportunity to assess the past eight days.  And that's a story for later this week.

Hurricane Journal: In the Cold

In the midst of our extended period without electricity, around day seven, a friend of mine had a thought that really lingered with me.  "The first two days without electricity are fun," C said, "and then reality sets in."  For us, it was a very cold reality.  In hindsight, the days rather blur together in my mind.  Now, more than three weeks since the storm, the eight days we spent without power seem like a lost week.

As the cold settled in, the temperature of my house steadily declined.  When I have electricity, I listen to NPR for hours at a time.  Without the radio, the steady sound of my day was the whir of generators in town, a loudly humming noise that was a reminder of our lack of power.  JT spent some time tuning in my Eton crank-fueled radio and by Wednesday morning I could once again hear the sounds of WNYC, my local public radio station. 

Once the radio was operational, we had company again.  And it was company on the form of actual news and facts instead of the over-the-fence rumor mongering and anxiety that had quickly taken hold in the absence of solid information.  I could learn about the damage elsewhere and hear about the help that had already arrived.  My town and its authorities, who had been so useful in Hurricane Irene, were pretty useless in the period after this storm.  Warming and charging stations would have been welcome by Wednesday evening, but it took until Friday night for our town to make them available.  As temperatures sank and gasoline proved scarce, people became increasingly anxious.  Though it wasn't the case for anyone I knew, the radio assured me that others lacked food and water.   T and I checked in with each other a couple times every day, though our need to keep our phones charged meant that long conversations were not an option.  I had to start my car to charge my cell phone, which was a lifeline to friends and loved ones as well as my sister KO's daily power company updates.  The cell phone also kept me informed about school cancellation, which was handled on a day-by-day basis as the school also waited for electricity.

As it became clear to me that we were going to be a long time without power, I headed up to the attic to find my Nebraska-rated bedding, which I layered on to our beds.  On top of the flannel sheets went a warm blanket.

And then a down comforter wrapped in a flannel duvet.

On top of that was a quilt, to hold in the warmth of the down.  The beds looked like a stuffed goose, but underneath those heavy covers we were very warm as we slept.

For a couple of those cold nights, a friend who lives in town and I combined forces to share suppers and warmth.  Thanks to natural gas, we both had the ability to take hot showers and cook on our gas stoves.  My house faces north and didn't get much passive heat during the cold days, but M's house faces east, with windows to the south and her living room was much warmer in the cold evenings.  On Friday, M scored some bags of ice which we used to keep a little cold food.  Between the ice and night temperatures in the 30s, I was able to keep milk, cheese, eggs, and a newly-opened jar of mayo.  Somehow, this made me feel more civilized.

That same afternoon, I called PSE&G for an electricity restoration update and the automatic service told me that our power would be restored by the next day at 3 pm.  JT and I were euphoric and that night the cold seemed easier to bear.  But come 3 pm on Saturday, there was no power.  My sister learned from the PSE&G website that we were now slated for restoration in the following week.  It's not an exaggeration to say that I greeted this news with desperation.  Worn out by the cold, JT and I threw caution to the wind, fired up the car, and went over to a local mall for a few hours.  We came home to a cold, black darkness and my anxiety began to rise.  That night, T, herself still without power, persuaded me to visit some friends with electricity for the day, and I fell asleep thinking about a plan for Sunday.  The next three days found us traveling about, seeking warmth and charged electronics.  And that's a story for another day.

Hurricane Journal: The Day After

When I awakened on the morning of October 30, the rain had stopped and the winds were gone.  Unlike the aftermath of Hurricane Irene, which dawned sunny and spectacular, this day was cloudy and grey.  It was cool outside, with temps just in the 50s.  JT was still asleep but I went outside to look up and down the street.  My neighbors were there and we compared notes.  Tree branches were down everywhere; like me, my neighbors were without power.  In the next few hours, I would discover that there was no power in our town and not in nearby towns either.  I called the utility company to report the outage and the automated system informed me that my electricity would be restored by Monday, November 5th.  In hindsight, that was my first inkling that the storm had been massive, though I glossed over the fact at the time.  When we had lost power in Irene, they had warned us it would be gone for 5 days and we were restored in 3.  Surely this wouldn't be worse?

I came inside to a functioning gas stove and the ability to make coffee.  While the water boiled, I grabbed the bags of ice I had earlier stored in the freezer, and moved food from my fridge to the ice chest, which I stored on my front porch.  What I couldn't save, I threw out.  I saved the ice cream for JT's breakfast.  When he got up, I let him eat it from the carton, an indulgence he is always asking for but receives only in the aftermath of hurricanes.  We took a walk around town and began to get a sense of the extent of the damage.  There were downed trees and tree branches everywhere, so much so that sights like these could be seen in too many front yards to count.

Larger trees and power poles also came down, including more than a half dozen on one of the main streets out of our town.  This picture is from a distance because there were power lines down for a length of two blocks and I didn't want my 12 year old anywhere near them.

One block north of my street, an enormous tree came down.  You can see the root ball in this photo.  This tree took out a fence and a garage, but missed the houses it stood between.

Farther down the same street, another tree crushed a car.

I'm not sure that there is any way to really explain the volume of the trees that fell in my town, let alone the way things looked in the aftermath.  In some instances, like this one two blocks west of me, houses were damaged (there is a flattened dormer window under that tree).

By the time JT and I returned home from our first post-hurricane outing, we were sobered by what we had seen.  We felt incredibly lucky.  Our messy front porch and one bent piece of trim were nothing to worry about compared to what other folks had experienced.

Later that day, we set to work tuning in our hand-crank radio so that we could get some news and information about the rest of our area.  That's a story for another day.

Hurricane Journal: The Storm Itself

On October 28, a Sunday afternoon, just as the very edge of the hurricane winds were starting, JT and I drove my parents to the airport for their flight back to California.  When we got home, word that school was cancelled for Monday came via e-mail.   But other than the bits of wind and the ominous forecast, nothing happened.  Sunday need up being an anxious day of preparation for the unexpected.  I washed every bit of laundry I could find, charged up my cell phone, and hoped for the best.  For reasons of logistics, T and I were riding out the storm separately.  She lives in the woods and was practically guaranteed to lose electricity, though with a generator to help out.  Previous storms, including Hurricane Irene, had us convinced that the aftermath of this storm would be harder in her area than mine, and I have cats and my beloved home to look after, so JT and I couldn't just re-locate to her house.

Monday morning dawned dark and windy.  On and off throughout the day we had light rain.  Winds picked up steadily and at some point I realized that I could hear it blowing all the time.  By 4 pm, the local weather was reporting that Sandy was moving a little faster than expected.  The storm was upon the shore with winds in excess of 70 miles per hour and would soon be upon us.  Darkness came and the winds steadily picked up but we still had lights.  I kept expecting the winds to be joined by heavy rain but that never materialized.  As it was, the winds were enough to do some pretty colossal damage and we are incredibly lucky that the rain wasn't as heavy as the forecasters had feared.

Even as I grew confident that my basement wouldn't flood (and it never did), I began to fret about trees and the power lines.  Unlike my native California, power lines around here are above ground.  I could stand in my living room and watch the swinging lines to my house, a pretty frightening way to spend your storm hours.  At 8 pm, after one last flicker, the lights went out.  Winds were now sustained with gusts blowing over them (I later learned that some of those gusts were in excess of 80 mph…..I can believe it).  In the darkness, we could only hear the storm and the sounds were terrifying.  A piece of siding trim blew down off the house and then crashed about in the driveway until  ran outside in the dark to grab it before it could do more damage.  JT and I played cards and then went to bed to read in the darkness and listen to the storm.  To my complete surprise, I was able to sleep.  Now that the worst was upon us and I knew what it would be like, I was oddly relieved.  I woke at some point in the middle of the night and the wind was gone.  All I could hear was the sound of light rain.  I slept through the rest of the night, relieved that the worst was over.

Hurricane Journal

I write every day in my journal.  For some years now, my journal has been on my computer.  Some of what I write serves as fodder for my blog and the blog itself is a kind of journal.  In the midst of the hurricane and the power loss that followed, charging my MacBook was not an option.  So I had to revert to a paper journal again.  It felt all sorts of old-fashioned to be writing on paper.  It was oddly comforting to be doing something so familiar, albeit in a now-unfamiliar fashion.  All told, we were without power for eight days, some of them quite cold.   I wrote every day.  The storm happened two weeks ago tomorrow and for the next few days I will post some excerpts from my Hurricane journal.  

In the hours leading up to Hurricane Sandy's on-shore arrival, I wrote a few postings about storm anticipation.  Here is what I wrote on Sunday the 28th.  On the day of the storm, I posted two small pieces before we lost electricity.  Those can be found here and here.

 I slept pretty poorly for the nights leading up to the storm, lying in bed running through my preparation lists and hyper-aware of every unusual sound.  My storm prep was actually done as of Saturday afternoon.  Then came an extended dance mix of waiting.  More about that tomorrow.