Tag Archives: Hurricane

When trees attack…

Trick or Treat! And for this year’s costume…I’m a Sandy Victim!

I’d love to report that my boat has survived Hurricane Sandy unscathed. But as of this posting, I still don’t know. This massive storm was one for the history books, and the toll it took on the east coast is still being tallied, and around here, we’re still digging our way out of the damage it left behind. The winds that hit my area go beyond anything the region has ever weathered, and coupled with a record storm surge, much of the surrounding infrastructure sustained massive damage. Many of the marinas in my home waters have been devastated, and very few boats, either in the water or on land, came through unharmed. I’m hoping that due to her position at the highest point in the yard, protected by an old but reasonably solid shed, Annabel Lee is one of the fortunate survivors. But at this time, that remains to be seen.

As I type this, there’s a tree in my kitchen. And my spare bedroom/office. And I don’t mean a bonsai. No, I’m talking about a 100+ foot oak, formerly tall and majestic, but now uprooted and lying diagonal, balanced precariously between my yard and rooftop. It came down just as Sandy made landfall to the south and winds shifted from merely unnerving to downright terrifying. It came down with an impact that shook the house, knocking books and cups from shelves and turning pictures on the walls sideways. Several larger limbs tore instant skylights through the ceiling, sending sheetrock and shingles, leaves and splinters flying across my kitchen floor.

Fortunately, no one, human, canine or feline, was hurt, though we were all severely rattled, and we hastily rounded everyone into the relative safety of the basement. I’m grateful that whoever originally built this house seemed to construct it of doubled beams and excessively thick lumber. We’d often joked about the house’s inexplicable, almost ‘bomb-shelter’ like qualities, but as we rode out the remainder of the night, we truly came to appreciate it.

After a long and sleepless night, dawn allowed us to inspect the full extent of the damage. The weight of the tree still balanced upon the peak of the roof, with shattered limbs ripping into the roof through various points. Half our chimney was gone, beams and vents crushed. Upsetting as it was, compared to the reports coming in over the news radio, filled with horrifying and heartbreaking stories of damage and death, we considered ourselves reasonably lucky. The house can be repaired, and the only casualties we’d encountered included a vintage kit-kat clock, an old piggy-bank that crashed down from a shelf, and ironically, a weather glass that had all night been vividly displaying the dropping air pressure.

Bands of rain continued to arrive, as they had all night, and in the daylight we went onto the roof to cut away the outer limbs so we could nail a tarp down over the roof and finally dry up inside. Cars and people slowed as they passed, and neighbors came to offer any assistance they could. Thursday morning we’re scheduled for a tree service with a crane to lift the massive oak from the roof – by the way it is balanced cutting it free would cause more damage, and once that is done and the roof patched, we’ll finally be able to turn our attention to checking the boat. I can only hope Sandy has left me no other unpleasant surprises.


Wind. Lots of it, howling around outside the house. No, I’m not aboard Annabel, no one would let me stay and I know, it’s the sensible thing to do, but this is going to be one damned long night, and I probably won’t get any sleep until it quiets down out there, and even then, I’ll probably be jumping in the car to go down and make sure she’s okay.

We put out extra lines in every direction, to the point Frank said I’ll be keeping the docks from blowing away. Stripped the canvas, lashed the bare poles. Dropped the antennas, lashed them down. Secured everything and then some. Frank said I was getting carried away, and pointed out all the boats around us with no preparation. But they’re not MY boat. Yeah, he said, but when they break free guess what they can hit.  Yeah, I know. And even the ones who make the effort, their lines are only as good as their unbacked cleats and all.  My consolation is that Annabel’s built like the proverbial brick shithouse, and even if she does end out in a bumper-boat contest, she should fare better than all those around her. One can hope. The moderate storm surge should keep her keel clear of the low-tide bottom. There’s that wind again, reminding me of all the big trees towering over the house at the moment. I don’t see myself getting much sleep tonight. I think I’ll check the radar again.