Hannah visits.

Saturday 6 September 2008

After school on Friday Jessy and I asked Roger to drive us up to Chincoteague, which is about 18 miles, just so we could look at the surf. We were both in skirts and with heels on, which was kind of cute as we stood at the beach amidst the tourists in their swimsuits and scanned the ocean. No surfers were out-- there was scarcely anything for them to surf. I recognised no evidence of a storm swell at all, leading me to naively believe this storm won't be much of anything. But that's probably Daddy too-- he always tries to second-guess the weathermen. He says a good surfer or sailor will know as much about weather as anyone with all those instruments. He says the secret is to turn off The Weather Channel-- which Gran watches way too much! --and LOOK OUTSIDE.

But the storm did come. The wind came up in the wee hours of Saturday morning. I remember other summer storms we have had, when we were in Delaware and even before, when we lived in Surf City, and it's always scariest when it hits at night. By morning the power was out, but as Daddy said, that's to be expected. Our generator kicked in of course, but it does not power all the outlets and with the storm shutters closed the house stayed dark late into the morning. (We carried candles.) And the air-conditioning would not come on, so the house began to get hot and muggy. Jessy and I did not get dressed even after showers-- we each had on panties-- but because there was so much to do we wore shirts.

When we were in England I remember trying to explain to people what a tropical storm along the East Coast was like. They get plenty of winter storms and some spring weather, but nothing like a circular storm mass moving up a coast like this. Some of them thought riding out a storm along the sea seemed romantic. I guess I see their point. It is definitely exciting. At first it only gets dark, there is a little rain, and the breeze kicks up, enough that you would want to take in towels and swimsuits off the line, nothing too severe. The wind will stay around for a few hours beforehand and then as the whole force of it arrives it winds up into a vicious howling. Each burst of it feels like it will press the whole wall in. There is no way to just ride it out without becoming anxious. It seems to sap all your courage and strength. Even prayer doesn't feel like it will help.

Mother did lead us in a prayer service, adapting the old prayer for people in distress at sea, and we all admitted our worries. Daddy included that he was worried for other people as well. I think it's easy to think you are the only one suffering through a storm when it afflicts you. Meanwhile everyone else is suffering exactly the same as you are.

We are not worried so much about the house as we are curious. This house is new-- we moved into it on 31 July, and this is its first major storm. Using the third little pig's concept, it is built all in structural block and the low-pitched rooves are fibreglassed inside the parapets and then sealed round the edges with lead plate. Like our other two houses this one has storm shutters on all the windows which swing closed from outside and pin securely top and bottom. This is Daddy's idea of a house along the Shore, an idea that no one else seems to take seriously. Holiday houses with large glass area may be charming in fair weather, but in a storm, which is most likely to happen when the people are NOT at the holiday house, can do serious damage. And then of course there are the insurance claims and higher premiums. We have never had anything serious happen because of a storm. It's always the stupid stuff-- the Laser sailboat blew over and tried to float, trailer and all, across the yard, or potted plants fall over and have to be repotted, or the clothesline gets twisted round the garden gateposts, and of course there is always plenty of raking up to do to get the gravel and sand and soil back in their proper places.

Daddy had Jessy and me inspecting windows every half-hour or so, which meant we were scrambling all over the house to see what was holding. One of the shutters in little J.J.'s room vibrated enough in the hammering wind to become loose. Daddy would not let us open the window till the wind subsided so it went on banging. Fortunately the glass held. But it was very nerve-wracking to hear it and to think that the house was sort of coming apart. Having cramps didn't help my anxiety at all. In fact I went up and lay down in my room, but all I could do is curl up in a ball and pretend I'd be able to sleep.

Jessy came in and told me that the house had developed a leak. One of the upper tower windows-- on the south side, wouldn't you know it-- was apparently not sealed enough and a pretty good torrent of water streamed in under the sill. The paint on the wall and the trim on top and baseboards has lifted. Daddy had us chip away at the plasterboard to get into the wall and he was able to squeeze plenty of emergency stop-leak in between the block and the sill, the kind of stuff you use to stop leaks on boats. This held... sort of. We were able to guide the water out of the wall and into a large square dishpan. The two of us were crawling around in our panties and shirts getting really messy and sweaty. It might have been funny if we were not both so anxous about seeing water coming into our lovely home. Jessy came up with a way to siphon the water out and lead a piece of hose down two flights of stairs but it became more trouble than it was worth and we just sat up there on the wet floor waiting for it to fill and taking turns carrying it down about every 15 minutes. It was bloody boring! --but if this is the worst that has happened, we're fine.

Round suppertime the rain subsided. As long as there is rain you don't see how the wind eases. When the windows began to clear we could look outside. The whole lower yard was flooded-- I mean so wet you could not see the grass, as though we and our little walled garden were floating in the sea. Straight out past where the boat usually is there were the tops of some marsh grasses on the barrier islands and then nothing but the tormented ocean, swirling white and angry in the low light. The waves have been broken up by the jetties and the ''moat' which we have round the perimeter of the property. The other way down the lane, the other houses stand dry but surrounded by gleaming wet grass, scattered gravel and mud. That will be a mess to clean up, but only eventually.

Daddy went down the lane in his yellow rain jacket and inspected the houses before it got dark. From the upstairs gallery we watched him leave each one and dart across the lane with his flashlight. When he got back it was just about dark. The rain was mostly stopped and the wind was scarcely anything. He reported that a few of the windows in the unfinished houses had not held and at least one of them would have water stains on the raw-oak floor. Some plasterboard was ruined, as expected. But the basements were basically dry-- as ours is-- and everything had come through much better than expected.

The best thing was that, of course, we had moved the boat upstream-- all the way to the Delaware River, actually. Daddy and his brother sailed the boat up the coast where it will have rode out this storm at a marina, thanks to a friend of Daddy's with an empty slip. I am looking forward to going up to Chincoteague over the next few days to surf whatever storm swell remains. And we'll probably leave the boat up north, sail it around up there before getting it ready to haul out for the winter. There are a few family and social events planned for later in the month and we'll get to stay at the house in Surf City and the one in Delaware, both of which neighbours have reported are fine so far. Terncote Castle has come through its first hurricane tolerably well.

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