I take a lot of pictures of the ocean. On windy days, I’ll head down to watch
with awe as the sea explodes upon the rocks and geysers over out lighthouse.
I love watching the still waters of the harbor when the wind kicks up a heavy
churn. There is such magnificence about
it and a comfort of watching the drama, as it happens far away.
At home though, in our house at the bottom of an incline,
surrounded by towering pines and massive oaks, I’m less inclined to love wind
and more disposed to worry.
The day we moved in almost 21 years ago, I looked out one of the
picture windows to the grove of hundred foot pines out back and announced, “I don’t
ever want to do a hurricane in this house.”
In the last year plus, we’ve dealt with two hurricanes. Both
times, the weather folks had a field day, and I bought into their drama. I purchased water, batteries and canned food
we’d never touch otherwise. I wrung my hands when my husband drove 66 miles toward
the storm the morning of Sandy to get to work, and I looked up at those darn
pine trees and I prayed. After both
storms, we gazed at our intact trees and smirked, “That was a hurricane?”
The bad news is there wasn't much warning for what happened in
our yard Wednesday night. The weather man said it would be windy. Well, he got that right.
The good news
is no one was hurt and nothing happened to our house. In the future, I’ll continue to respect the
wind. Now though, I have a healthy appreciation for homeowners insurance.
