Fizzled. Non-starter. Lots of rain, some puffy gusts, then off it went, falling apart to the north. We never lost power, the chainsaws aren’t singing their september song, and now to resume our regularly scheduled late summer activities.
Since alcohol and tropical depressions fit hand in glove, we sat on my cousin’s porch dressed like crab fishermen in orange Grundens, drinking dark and stormy’s (dark rum and ginger beer) watching the gusts blow bursts of rain down Main Street. An expedition to the town dock to stand on the end and face into the howling northeast breeze, and back to the porch to tell stories of storms past and grouse about how Earl was such a dud. One of the sure signs of approaching senescence is my happiness over non-storms. People too young to have lived through a week of coffee brewed on the weber grill and 19th century lifestyle options (you go to bed when it is dark, bathe in cold water, smell bad), tend to miss the big display of nature’s special effects the most.
Now to put the boat back in the water, return the big boat to its normal mooring, and figure out how to get in three Skiff races before Monday’s prize ceremony. And I have a heck of a hangover ….
Ironically recorded in 1938, the September that saw the Great Hurricane of ’38 totally trash Long Island and New England.
2 thoughts on “Here Comes the Story of the Hurricane”
Glad everyone’s ok–except for the hangovers, of course…
Sounds like it was a fun evening weather watching. I know my meteorologist wife would find that statement redundant, then again, she’s forced me closer to some hurricanes than I’ve ever wanted to be.
That aside, glad to hear you guys didn’t take a pounding like the storm of ’38.
Still, I have to wonder about your last sentence, I mean, at this point it time, is it really possible to trash Long Island? Just concerned of yet again being accused of writing redundant.