Concerned about the impending storm, I contacted the owner of the bay-front vacation home we had rented for advice. The house is equipped to withstand the storm, she replied. The house will rock, but don't be scared. I love storms there! And this morning as we packed for our week away, it seemed like the storm track was favorable; it would be rainy tomorrow, but nice the rest of our stay. And so off we drove the 3 1/2 hours to the southern shore of New Jersey.
The air was heavy and still when we arrived, and the sky was low. We worked up a sweat as we unpacked the car, our footsteps crunching over the crushed shell drive and up the outside steps to the entrance. Inside, it was cold. Someone had set the window units to 60, probably to cool the place down fast, and we stepped out on the deck overlooking the Delaware Bay to call the owners and let them know we had arrived.
They assured us again that although the house would rock, and the waves would be high, and the power might go out for a short time cutting the well water, by tomorrow night all would be well, and we would have a story to tell our friends. With that, we unpacked.
The phone rang a little while later. The owners sheepishly told us that an evacuation order had just been issued. Seems like a second storm was predicted to collide with the first, and flooding and power outages were practically guaranteed, putting the house out of commission for a couple days and threatening our car. You can ride out the storm with us, they offered, or maybe go to a hotel?
Neither option fit the cooler full of food we had brought to comply with the quarantine order for residents of our state, and 2 days away from the house was half of our vacation gone. It was 5:30, and the wind was picking up. Isaias was predicted to arrive from the south in a few hours, so we thanked them, repacked all of our stuff, carried it down to the car, and came home.
(But not before buying some peaches and blueberries and corn. And I would've stopped in a heartbeat for hoagies if I'd seen a place. I'll be back New Jersey-- just you wait.)
The air was heavy and still when we arrived, and the sky was low. We worked up a sweat as we unpacked the car, our footsteps crunching over the crushed shell drive and up the outside steps to the entrance. Inside, it was cold. Someone had set the window units to 60, probably to cool the place down fast, and we stepped out on the deck overlooking the Delaware Bay to call the owners and let them know we had arrived.
They assured us again that although the house would rock, and the waves would be high, and the power might go out for a short time cutting the well water, by tomorrow night all would be well, and we would have a story to tell our friends. With that, we unpacked.
The phone rang a little while later. The owners sheepishly told us that an evacuation order had just been issued. Seems like a second storm was predicted to collide with the first, and flooding and power outages were practically guaranteed, putting the house out of commission for a couple days and threatening our car. You can ride out the storm with us, they offered, or maybe go to a hotel?
Neither option fit the cooler full of food we had brought to comply with the quarantine order for residents of our state, and 2 days away from the house was half of our vacation gone. It was 5:30, and the wind was picking up. Isaias was predicted to arrive from the south in a few hours, so we thanked them, repacked all of our stuff, carried it down to the car, and came home.
(But not before buying some peaches and blueberries and corn. And I would've stopped in a heartbeat for hoagies if I'd seen a place. I'll be back New Jersey-- just you wait.)
So painful. At least you have peaches, blueberries, and corn to take the edge of the bitterness.
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