Irene Takes Us Back to Way Back When

It was a blowdown, not an all-out blowout, and that’s more than OK with me. Irene, the first hurricane I’ve felt up close, left almost 5 inches of rain, a massive power outage and enough branches and leaves in my garden to keep me busy for a while.

But the storm also leaves the lasting experience of having an awesome act of nature become the center of life in ways large and small – and the widespread belief that there will be more to come.

Years ago, I wrote stories for the Los Angeles Times about hurricanes, but that was after they’d gone; I did not live with the waiting, watching and worrying in the days and hours before the storms struck. Nor did I have to deal with the aftermath of those storms.

That changed last week as I read and watched Irene reports with trepidation, trying to gauge what it might destroy, whether we’d need to dash to safety in the basement, whether it would dump enough rain to flood the basement again. Such concerns were enough to keep my wife Lyn and me awake much of Saturday night, so we heard Irene roar in, heard the unmistakable crrraaack! of a tree, the sounds of unknown objects going thud in the night.

We figured we’d lose electrical power overnight Saturday, and we did, along with millions of others on the Eastern Seaboard.

But, knowing the power was out didn’t prevent us from flipping switches every time we walked into dark rooms; habits die hard. I found it amazing how dark the house was all day Sunday, despite numerous windows, no curtains. And, the air seemed heavier than in an average summer storm.

There must be places in America where electricity rarely is lost, but we don’t live there, so we’re always prepared to lose refrigerated food during any extended outage and for losing use of all those gadgets, computers and other machines  that mark modern life.

To be sure, the loss of electricity on Sunday, as it has numerous times before, gave us a glimpse into the past, when quietness reigned without white noise from myriad machines that beep, whirr and buzz. We read more, and felt the ultimate connection to nature – fears and awe included. Battery radios replaced television, and Lyn and I huddled around the little radio as in days of yore.

As we lunched on salami, cheese, bread and wine, Lyn said, "We could be on an estate in Italy a hundred years ago: "The meat and cheese are unrefrigerated and slightly warm, and we're drinking wine instead of water."

We did have our moments. It was evocative and interesting for a while, but that upside to power loss couldn't last long; effects large and small began grating on us. We had to stop using water from faucets, as our well water pump depends on electricity. Candles and flashlights are OK but not for long. Fact is, we have become dependent on what may become an increasingly  unstable commodity. If a hurricane cum tropical storm can cause more than half a million households to lose power for days in the small state of Connecticut, what will happen if, as many scientists predict, climate change causes oceans to warm enough to spawn more, stronger storms than we can cope with?

By 3:30 p.m. Sunday, Irene had moved far enough north to allow a garden walkabout, even as strong winds persisted for hours later. I was surprised at the amount of tree parts, including acorns and large limbs littering the ground. And, that crack in the middle of the night turned out to be an oak broken in half, the top part dangling precariously, held by shreds of bark and wood. In some ways, all this was not bad at all compared to damage and suffering in many other lives. It's all relative.

Monday after the storm was as beautiful a day as Friday before the storm had been. Blue skies, fresh, cool breezes. But, as of this writing, no electricity. Thus, both days are marked by the odd combination of surface calm and heavy dread of hard times ahead.

Feel free to visit Lee May at leemaysgardeninglife.com, where he writes about gardening, food and other passions in everyday life.