Every blog on the East Coast must have a "Sandy" post by now. This is no exception. (One of the amazing results of the Blogverse is that we have eyewitness/earwitness views of our world, as it occurs, that go more in-depth than the evening news, or even YouTube.) So, from this part of north central MA, reflections on "Sandy":
Gardner is surrounded, like a bulls-eye, with the radiating towns of Ashburnham, Winchendon, Hubbardston, Templeton, and Westminister. Beyond that wooded New England circle lies Ashby, Fitchburg, Leominster, Princeton, Rutland, Barre, Petersham, Phillipston, Athol and Royalston. Still, mostly wooded towns with lots of freshwater ponds and mid-sized lakes fed by shallow brooks. Mountains are part of the wilder landscape--some easily climbed--others ski-worthy. More citified cities fall below and towards the east--Worcester being the second largest in the state. For the most part, however, it was the factories that provided industry in this part of central and north Massachusetts--along with family farms (vegetables and dairy). Shoes, clothing, furniture were the core industries. Woolen mills, shoe shops, wood working factories all buzzed while I grew up. (In fact, I spent a coughing-out-loud summer, before college, working in the paint department of Simplex Time Recorder--glad for the college spending funds but hating every aspect of factory life and what it did to the workers.)
My family grew up with almost every member of my parents' generation, in Gardner, working for one of the factories,their entire lives, happy for it. Now, except for my parents and my "uncle" Bob, all of them are dead. (You do the math.) Today, the mill buildings are being re-vitalized as upscale or assisted- living condos. Hardly a small New England town has escaped the trend. You drive through, and you are as apt to see a red brick refurbished "factory", with a "for rent" sign out front, as you are to find the grassy common and the white sided Protestant Church in the middle of town.
What hasn't changed is New England still smells the same, in autumn, as I remember. The trees flame-on for a week or so, then cold rain and colder breezes send the colored flags into the gutters, replacing the brilliant tints with factory colors: rust and brown and mossy gray. It is as if Nature, Herself, reflects the heritage of our industrial follies.
This year, however, the brilliant display was barely underway when a strange, yellowish cast filled the sky above Gardner.
Sunday night, I had a dinner date with an old high-school friend, followed by a late night run to the drugstore for a prescription. The restaurant was jaunty and everyone seemed unperturbed about the weather forcasts. We were far from the ocean--at least far enough not to worry about storm surges and sea-wall breach. Besides, Gardnerites had withstood the ice-storm of a few years back. Most of the at-risk older trees (some hundreds of years old) had already succumbed. We knew our neighbors--for the most part--and even strangers had pitched in to help each other in that big, bad, multi-weeked black-out and ice-cover. A hurricane was second-string weather, for Gardner. So, the restaurant was jumping.
It had begun to rain--not freezing rain, but a weird, temperate-for-autumn pour-down. I was hatless. My spikey haircut mashed flat against my brain by the time I entered the drugstore--I was shocked to find it as packed as the restaurant!
"Storm supplies?" I asked, wiping my face and glasses, making small-talk to the first cashier by the door.
"Some...we're almost out of batteries and water...but tonight, people are coming in for snacks, soda, chips, ice cream, toilet paper...and prescriptions. I think some people just wanted to do something before the weather really hits..." The cashier goes back to filing her nails.
I walk to the back, threading my way through the thin aisles, excusing myself as I wend between old and young. Little kids are agog at the Halloweenie decorations filling the spaces near the ceiling, and begging for early treats. Parents look raggedy--more worried than the restaurant goers--perhaps just more tired. Kids sensed "something was about to happen". Their wiring kept them hyper and demanding. Parents didn't have the words to explain, so let them just bounce.
My prescription wouldn't be ready for twenty minutes--or I could come back, tomorrow. The pharmacist giggled. (We both knew "Sandy" was predicted to hit Gardner precisely at that point. I wouldn't be returning in the a.m.) I chose to become a drugstore zombie. I shuffled amid the crowd, headed to the dog toys and t.v. special sales items. (Always comforting to find new ways to remove body hair or lose weight fast.)
Outside, the wind began to really pick up. Inside, we could see the swinging telephone wires and beginning-to-bend utility poles. A sudden crash on the roof made everyone gasp. But the power remained. The phones in the pharmacy all lit up. The two young women pharmacists gritted their teeth--literally--and tersely kept their heads down as they filled prescriptions, fielded questions and kept moving between the computers and phones. Two more crashes and a lashing of rain against the front doors were all that it took to empty the store.
I watched little kids herded into rain-washed vans in the parking lot. I stood by the "Niquil" stand as the pharmacists grimaced, but kept filling platic bottles.The front cashier smiled nervously, but put down her nail file.
"Just a couple more hours..." she signaled to her friend, in the chocolate aisle.
I checked on my prescription.
The downtown area was deserted and very, very water-logged as I drove home. The dependable Subaru, Tortuga, got me back to Maple Street, in the same dogged way she had propelled me home in the middle of a tornado that first summer I was going back and forth to Worcester State U to finish my MA credential--the night Helayne prayed Catholic prayers all the way home, believing, as she later admitted, we both were going to die that night. Gardner was full of capering fools, downtown and along the side streets, when we got back from school. The Tornado had touched down all around, but had, for whatever reason, allowed us grace. Escape. Freedom. This night, though, "Sandy" was blowing all around us and everyone was wisely tucked away. (Or so I hoped.)
At home, Dad had several tiny flashlights in strategic spots, downstairs: on top of the microwave; his bedstand; the t.v.; the bookcase; the fireplace; the kitchen table; the coffee-maker; the windowsill in the mud entry in the back. Upstairs, we were on our own.(However, my own L.A. paranoia about earthquake preparedness has extended here. I have several pairs of complete clothes--from undies to boots and med supplies--stashed in Tortuga and in my room.) I have eyeglasses everywhere Dad has a flashlight: without my glasses, I am blind. Let's be real! I bought my own flashlight and batteries. I also have forbidden candles and matches and lighters by my bed. My sister Ann has given me enough Swiss Army Knives (in my stockings at Christmas) that I am well armed if we are invaded or I need to slice and dice my way off the second floor...I also have emergency, battery operated lanterns--some given me by other members of our family, some by Ann--we all love disaster films and adventure t.v. Ann's travels all around the world have also made survival something she takes seriously--well, that and her addiction to "The Walking Dead" t.v. series. (I put on my Celtic cross that also has attached a cross of St. Benedict, the real excorcist, attached--my worries tend to be more metaphysical...)
Mom and Dad were fine. They had a case of bottled water ("The water is never a problem here," they laugh at me.) and matches and dry wood down cellar. (When I pleaded for them to allow Ann to invest in a generator before winter, they had scoffed. Then, when I pressed, Dad had out-right forbidden the purchase. I was confused. He didn't have to pay for it. We both knew how to work it. It would take up almost no space in the dirt cellar near the Christmas wreaths. But, it was "his house" and he would have no generator. The end.) "We survived the ice storm with no friggin' generator!" was the battle cry.
My friend from L.A., Terry, suggested I make the purchase and apologize later. (Obviously, she doesn't know this family...)We have no generator. (I think Dad and Mom actually like the idea of no computer access, no cell-phone re-charge, no t.v., no radio once the batteries die. They are pushing ninety. The world is faster and fading for them...perhaps the quiet of a hurricane is just what they long for--and to prove how tough they are, while we are all wimps around them. I don't know but if there was a power outage, we were back to Pilgrims.)
I had laid out my storm clothes, including heavy boots, socks, a winter parka, hat and gloves, strongest jeans, warmest undies, a scarf, a rain-poncho, extra glasses and keys. My meds were lined up. (Mom and Dad got ruffled when I attempted to question them about having extra prescriptions in case of emergency--that, like the gas-in-the-car discussion--and the generator, somehow angered them. I had "been away all these years and we've survived just fine" was the thinking- stream and I wasn't invited to add any "suggestions" to the flow.) So, I made my own survival strategy and tried to keep focused on what I could.
The ceiling- ring waterstain, which had appeared the first winter I arrived, didn't grow. There were no leaks--anywhere--except the usual wet cellar floor. But it is cement and there is a storm drain and Dad has rigged up heaters and fans and that is his domain. So, not to worry. The windows are all blizzard proof--and screens had long been taken down for the season. The roof is fairly new. Some few tar-paper roof tiles might blow, but they would easily be replaced. Again: not to worry.
(I did the laundry.We had towels and blankets and sheets. We were prepared with bedclothes.)Though the canned food supplies seemed small, there were lots of frozen things that would stay frozen, even in the power- out times.We had propane and propane stoves and lanterns in the garage. And if the sixty year old sugar maple in the back didn't come down on the garage, we had access to all of those supplies, the gardening equipment, the snowplow, miles of duct tape and the family car. Ann's being at 88 Maple most of the time also insured plenty of first aid supplies and extra food in the pantry--including dog food. (And since I'd just recently gone to the pharmacy to procure insulin for Maeve, we even were covered in dog diabetes territory.) Again: not to worry.
So, while the lights dimmed, twice, then returned, and the blasting wall- to- wall coverage from Dad's humongous wrap-around-sound television kept us up to the minute with the storm's course, I crouched in different corners, with the dog, listening to the screaming wind and blasting rain.
I kept assuring Maeve: "We aren't supposed to worry."
The trees in back and in front and along the entire street, bent and moaned. Only the ocassional "snap" and "thud" gave us cause for suspension of breath. (But only a few times.) The house is an ark and survived like an ark should. We, the crew and animals, also survived.Twelve hours after the worst of it, we knew we were safe. Both rain and wind gusts (some close to 85) continued for two more days, but the grizzly soul of the storm had passed us by.
Outside, all of the hundreds of birds, skunks, squirrels, possums, chipmunks, mice and other living things, hunkered down, someplace. I didn't catch a glimpse of any of them the entire three days we were lashed. All of the foodstuffs Ann had filled the yard with were either eaten, hidden away or blown to another state. Or, they were buried: about five hundred pounds of wet leaves had been caught in the yard by our seven foot fence. Everything that had been still clinging to the maple tree in the back was now on the ground--much of it bright green; hardly turned. (I had spent the week before, raking, scraping and bagging about a hundred pounds of leaves. Dad found this leaf vacuum and we had an old-time factory assembly-line going between the scoop, bagging; emptying; sealing and hauling of leaves.) Now, some of the bags were emptied again--this time, in the soggy yard. Others were flung all over the street. Instead of shoveling snow, as we had last Halloween, we would begin shoveling sodden leaves.
Maeve weathered the storm by making little whining noises--not to be confused by her begging baby-alligator noises. She couldn't find a comfortable place, anywhere. Upstairs, down, front room, her bed in the kitchen, her mother's bed on the second floor, my room, even her usual "hiding place", in the bathroom, (next to the tub) was unfit. Finally, at the worst of it, while Dad was wrapped in a fleece blanket, in his lounge chair, sipping Ensure, eating peanut butter crackers and watching the huge flatscreen t.v. for storm coverage, Maeve curled, her head on his slippers,tail tucked around her, whimpering faintly, sure the wind outside was coming to get her. But, she made it. We made it.
Outside, Tortuga-the-Subaru looked newly washed. Not even leaves were left plastered to her green sides. She was watertight. No branches had crushed her. No stones pecked her glass. Her tires were shiny. Her interior secure. And since we were not a flooded plain. (Maple Street is on top of a small hill--in fact, most of Gardner is atop a series of hills.) no running water came inside my street-parked turtlecar. (For that, I am officially thankful.)
The trees that remained after the ice-storm, remain still. Some are thinner or shorter, but they are there. Everything is "bald" now. Gardner is usually ugly before the snow--the trees skeletal and threatening. But we are all here.Yes, there were casulties. South Gardner had power losses up until Friday of this week. The ring of towns around us had further damage. But this time, Gardner was spared.
I am still wondering about friends in other localities: a long ago "important person" in my younger life who lives in MA, and shares the hurricane's name; a Gypsy who stole my heart and never returned it thirty five years ago- whose last sighting was in NYC/NJ; more friends than I can list who live along the eastern seaboard and who have not returned either cell calls nor e-mails...All the pets and wild things who are lost out there...I send prayers up and out...but that's something I do for all of us, every day, anyway.
Halloweenie wasn't cancelled. (The New York marathon was.) The presidential election circus lumbers on. And we pick up the pieces, as always, everywhere.
"I told you we didn't need a generator!" Dad grins.
(Not this time.)
Gardner is surrounded, like a bulls-eye, with the radiating towns of Ashburnham, Winchendon, Hubbardston, Templeton, and Westminister. Beyond that wooded New England circle lies Ashby, Fitchburg, Leominster, Princeton, Rutland, Barre, Petersham, Phillipston, Athol and Royalston. Still, mostly wooded towns with lots of freshwater ponds and mid-sized lakes fed by shallow brooks. Mountains are part of the wilder landscape--some easily climbed--others ski-worthy. More citified cities fall below and towards the east--Worcester being the second largest in the state. For the most part, however, it was the factories that provided industry in this part of central and north Massachusetts--along with family farms (vegetables and dairy). Shoes, clothing, furniture were the core industries. Woolen mills, shoe shops, wood working factories all buzzed while I grew up. (In fact, I spent a coughing-out-loud summer, before college, working in the paint department of Simplex Time Recorder--glad for the college spending funds but hating every aspect of factory life and what it did to the workers.)
My family grew up with almost every member of my parents' generation, in Gardner, working for one of the factories,their entire lives, happy for it. Now, except for my parents and my "uncle" Bob, all of them are dead. (You do the math.) Today, the mill buildings are being re-vitalized as upscale or assisted- living condos. Hardly a small New England town has escaped the trend. You drive through, and you are as apt to see a red brick refurbished "factory", with a "for rent" sign out front, as you are to find the grassy common and the white sided Protestant Church in the middle of town.
What hasn't changed is New England still smells the same, in autumn, as I remember. The trees flame-on for a week or so, then cold rain and colder breezes send the colored flags into the gutters, replacing the brilliant tints with factory colors: rust and brown and mossy gray. It is as if Nature, Herself, reflects the heritage of our industrial follies.
This year, however, the brilliant display was barely underway when a strange, yellowish cast filled the sky above Gardner.
Sunday night, I had a dinner date with an old high-school friend, followed by a late night run to the drugstore for a prescription. The restaurant was jaunty and everyone seemed unperturbed about the weather forcasts. We were far from the ocean--at least far enough not to worry about storm surges and sea-wall breach. Besides, Gardnerites had withstood the ice-storm of a few years back. Most of the at-risk older trees (some hundreds of years old) had already succumbed. We knew our neighbors--for the most part--and even strangers had pitched in to help each other in that big, bad, multi-weeked black-out and ice-cover. A hurricane was second-string weather, for Gardner. So, the restaurant was jumping.
It had begun to rain--not freezing rain, but a weird, temperate-for-autumn pour-down. I was hatless. My spikey haircut mashed flat against my brain by the time I entered the drugstore--I was shocked to find it as packed as the restaurant!
"Storm supplies?" I asked, wiping my face and glasses, making small-talk to the first cashier by the door.
"Some...we're almost out of batteries and water...but tonight, people are coming in for snacks, soda, chips, ice cream, toilet paper...and prescriptions. I think some people just wanted to do something before the weather really hits..." The cashier goes back to filing her nails.
I walk to the back, threading my way through the thin aisles, excusing myself as I wend between old and young. Little kids are agog at the Halloweenie decorations filling the spaces near the ceiling, and begging for early treats. Parents look raggedy--more worried than the restaurant goers--perhaps just more tired. Kids sensed "something was about to happen". Their wiring kept them hyper and demanding. Parents didn't have the words to explain, so let them just bounce.
My prescription wouldn't be ready for twenty minutes--or I could come back, tomorrow. The pharmacist giggled. (We both knew "Sandy" was predicted to hit Gardner precisely at that point. I wouldn't be returning in the a.m.) I chose to become a drugstore zombie. I shuffled amid the crowd, headed to the dog toys and t.v. special sales items. (Always comforting to find new ways to remove body hair or lose weight fast.)
Outside, the wind began to really pick up. Inside, we could see the swinging telephone wires and beginning-to-bend utility poles. A sudden crash on the roof made everyone gasp. But the power remained. The phones in the pharmacy all lit up. The two young women pharmacists gritted their teeth--literally--and tersely kept their heads down as they filled prescriptions, fielded questions and kept moving between the computers and phones. Two more crashes and a lashing of rain against the front doors were all that it took to empty the store.
I watched little kids herded into rain-washed vans in the parking lot. I stood by the "Niquil" stand as the pharmacists grimaced, but kept filling platic bottles.The front cashier smiled nervously, but put down her nail file.
"Just a couple more hours..." she signaled to her friend, in the chocolate aisle.
I checked on my prescription.
The downtown area was deserted and very, very water-logged as I drove home. The dependable Subaru, Tortuga, got me back to Maple Street, in the same dogged way she had propelled me home in the middle of a tornado that first summer I was going back and forth to Worcester State U to finish my MA credential--the night Helayne prayed Catholic prayers all the way home, believing, as she later admitted, we both were going to die that night. Gardner was full of capering fools, downtown and along the side streets, when we got back from school. The Tornado had touched down all around, but had, for whatever reason, allowed us grace. Escape. Freedom. This night, though, "Sandy" was blowing all around us and everyone was wisely tucked away. (Or so I hoped.)
At home, Dad had several tiny flashlights in strategic spots, downstairs: on top of the microwave; his bedstand; the t.v.; the bookcase; the fireplace; the kitchen table; the coffee-maker; the windowsill in the mud entry in the back. Upstairs, we were on our own.(However, my own L.A. paranoia about earthquake preparedness has extended here. I have several pairs of complete clothes--from undies to boots and med supplies--stashed in Tortuga and in my room.) I have eyeglasses everywhere Dad has a flashlight: without my glasses, I am blind. Let's be real! I bought my own flashlight and batteries. I also have forbidden candles and matches and lighters by my bed. My sister Ann has given me enough Swiss Army Knives (in my stockings at Christmas) that I am well armed if we are invaded or I need to slice and dice my way off the second floor...I also have emergency, battery operated lanterns--some given me by other members of our family, some by Ann--we all love disaster films and adventure t.v. Ann's travels all around the world have also made survival something she takes seriously--well, that and her addiction to "The Walking Dead" t.v. series. (I put on my Celtic cross that also has attached a cross of St. Benedict, the real excorcist, attached--my worries tend to be more metaphysical...)
Mom and Dad were fine. They had a case of bottled water ("The water is never a problem here," they laugh at me.) and matches and dry wood down cellar. (When I pleaded for them to allow Ann to invest in a generator before winter, they had scoffed. Then, when I pressed, Dad had out-right forbidden the purchase. I was confused. He didn't have to pay for it. We both knew how to work it. It would take up almost no space in the dirt cellar near the Christmas wreaths. But, it was "his house" and he would have no generator. The end.) "We survived the ice storm with no friggin' generator!" was the battle cry.
My friend from L.A., Terry, suggested I make the purchase and apologize later. (Obviously, she doesn't know this family...)We have no generator. (I think Dad and Mom actually like the idea of no computer access, no cell-phone re-charge, no t.v., no radio once the batteries die. They are pushing ninety. The world is faster and fading for them...perhaps the quiet of a hurricane is just what they long for--and to prove how tough they are, while we are all wimps around them. I don't know but if there was a power outage, we were back to Pilgrims.)
I had laid out my storm clothes, including heavy boots, socks, a winter parka, hat and gloves, strongest jeans, warmest undies, a scarf, a rain-poncho, extra glasses and keys. My meds were lined up. (Mom and Dad got ruffled when I attempted to question them about having extra prescriptions in case of emergency--that, like the gas-in-the-car discussion--and the generator, somehow angered them. I had "been away all these years and we've survived just fine" was the thinking- stream and I wasn't invited to add any "suggestions" to the flow.) So, I made my own survival strategy and tried to keep focused on what I could.
The ceiling- ring waterstain, which had appeared the first winter I arrived, didn't grow. There were no leaks--anywhere--except the usual wet cellar floor. But it is cement and there is a storm drain and Dad has rigged up heaters and fans and that is his domain. So, not to worry. The windows are all blizzard proof--and screens had long been taken down for the season. The roof is fairly new. Some few tar-paper roof tiles might blow, but they would easily be replaced. Again: not to worry.
(I did the laundry.We had towels and blankets and sheets. We were prepared with bedclothes.)Though the canned food supplies seemed small, there were lots of frozen things that would stay frozen, even in the power- out times.We had propane and propane stoves and lanterns in the garage. And if the sixty year old sugar maple in the back didn't come down on the garage, we had access to all of those supplies, the gardening equipment, the snowplow, miles of duct tape and the family car. Ann's being at 88 Maple most of the time also insured plenty of first aid supplies and extra food in the pantry--including dog food. (And since I'd just recently gone to the pharmacy to procure insulin for Maeve, we even were covered in dog diabetes territory.) Again: not to worry.
So, while the lights dimmed, twice, then returned, and the blasting wall- to- wall coverage from Dad's humongous wrap-around-sound television kept us up to the minute with the storm's course, I crouched in different corners, with the dog, listening to the screaming wind and blasting rain.
I kept assuring Maeve: "We aren't supposed to worry."
The trees in back and in front and along the entire street, bent and moaned. Only the ocassional "snap" and "thud" gave us cause for suspension of breath. (But only a few times.) The house is an ark and survived like an ark should. We, the crew and animals, also survived.Twelve hours after the worst of it, we knew we were safe. Both rain and wind gusts (some close to 85) continued for two more days, but the grizzly soul of the storm had passed us by.
Outside, all of the hundreds of birds, skunks, squirrels, possums, chipmunks, mice and other living things, hunkered down, someplace. I didn't catch a glimpse of any of them the entire three days we were lashed. All of the foodstuffs Ann had filled the yard with were either eaten, hidden away or blown to another state. Or, they were buried: about five hundred pounds of wet leaves had been caught in the yard by our seven foot fence. Everything that had been still clinging to the maple tree in the back was now on the ground--much of it bright green; hardly turned. (I had spent the week before, raking, scraping and bagging about a hundred pounds of leaves. Dad found this leaf vacuum and we had an old-time factory assembly-line going between the scoop, bagging; emptying; sealing and hauling of leaves.) Now, some of the bags were emptied again--this time, in the soggy yard. Others were flung all over the street. Instead of shoveling snow, as we had last Halloween, we would begin shoveling sodden leaves.
Maeve weathered the storm by making little whining noises--not to be confused by her begging baby-alligator noises. She couldn't find a comfortable place, anywhere. Upstairs, down, front room, her bed in the kitchen, her mother's bed on the second floor, my room, even her usual "hiding place", in the bathroom, (next to the tub) was unfit. Finally, at the worst of it, while Dad was wrapped in a fleece blanket, in his lounge chair, sipping Ensure, eating peanut butter crackers and watching the huge flatscreen t.v. for storm coverage, Maeve curled, her head on his slippers,tail tucked around her, whimpering faintly, sure the wind outside was coming to get her. But, she made it. We made it.
Outside, Tortuga-the-Subaru looked newly washed. Not even leaves were left plastered to her green sides. She was watertight. No branches had crushed her. No stones pecked her glass. Her tires were shiny. Her interior secure. And since we were not a flooded plain. (Maple Street is on top of a small hill--in fact, most of Gardner is atop a series of hills.) no running water came inside my street-parked turtlecar. (For that, I am officially thankful.)
The trees that remained after the ice-storm, remain still. Some are thinner or shorter, but they are there. Everything is "bald" now. Gardner is usually ugly before the snow--the trees skeletal and threatening. But we are all here.Yes, there were casulties. South Gardner had power losses up until Friday of this week. The ring of towns around us had further damage. But this time, Gardner was spared.
I am still wondering about friends in other localities: a long ago "important person" in my younger life who lives in MA, and shares the hurricane's name; a Gypsy who stole my heart and never returned it thirty five years ago- whose last sighting was in NYC/NJ; more friends than I can list who live along the eastern seaboard and who have not returned either cell calls nor e-mails...All the pets and wild things who are lost out there...I send prayers up and out...but that's something I do for all of us, every day, anyway.
Halloweenie wasn't cancelled. (The New York marathon was.) The presidential election circus lumbers on. And we pick up the pieces, as always, everywhere.
"I told you we didn't need a generator!" Dad grins.
(Not this time.)
