Nor’easter
Yesterday afternoon we prepared for the Nor’easter by bringing the outdoor table, buoys, statuary, and bird feeders into the shed. My one-legged pink flamingo, Nello, sporting his Mardi Gras beads, would surely have blown off into someone else’s yard never to return. With new window, new roof and new fence the place seems secure.
I pray any branches from my two beautiful silver maples miss the roof. The mulberry tree and the mimosa are supple enough to bend and whip in the wind; but the silver maples are over 100 years old. I keep telling myself they weathered the hurricane of ’38 and all the ones afterward. Their roots go deep; so I’m not worried about them toppling over, as much as one of their massive branches crashing down. The branches on the silver maples are as thick and large as trees.
I’m going to stay indoors. The last thing I need is a smack on the head when I’m just getting better from last week’s accident.
I never feel more in the hand of God than during a storm. I’m sure the feeling comes from all those fishing trips or inter-island travel in S.E. Alaska when we got caught in bad weather out in the strait. I remember the wind howling so loud you couldn’t scream and make yourself heard over it. Experience, skill and good nerves counted for something; but luck and good God counted for something, too.
