Breakage and Bonding

BREAKAGE

I go down to the edge of the sea.
How everything shines in the morning light!
The cusp of the whelk,
the broken cupboard of the clam,
the opened, blue mussels,
moon snails, pale pink and barnacle scarred—
and nothing at all whole or shut, but tattered, split,
dropped by the gulls onto the gray rocks and all the moisture gone.
It’s like a schoolhouse
of little words,
thousands of words.
First you figure out what each one means by itself,
the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop
full of moonlight.

Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.      MARY OLIVER

I have been reluctant to talk about the hurricane last year. There are several reasons for that. First, the name of that storm was Florence- my given name. Worse than that, my friends conveniently and maybe even affectionately called it Hurricane Flo. Put yourself in my spot. This was the worst hurricane to come along in many many years on the SE coast, and there it is- Hurricane Florence, or Flo for short- all over the headlines.
If I had to give my name over the phone, the person on the other end now knew how to spell it without my help. If I tried to charge something, they'd look at my card and say "Florence...like the hurricane. I bet you get that a lot". Uh huh.
Now many around here drop the term hurricane altogether, and just refer to Flo. Wait....do you mean me, or the hurricane when you refer to that bit of damage?

There were other reasons to avoid the subject. I wasn't even there when the storm hit. My greatest anxious moments were in front of the weather channel broadcast, not the actual weather. It was three weeks and plenty of conditioning time before I actually saw what had happened.
We had some damage. Mostly the dock and the basement that we did not prepare very well before we left. There were lots of power tools dead that Joe miraculously revived, lots of bits that should have been thrown out long ago, a few that had to go this time.
What we lost pales in comparison to what many friends suffered- caved in roofs, flooding in 2 stories, sopping insulation, furniture trashed. I had a bit of survivor's guilt, to tell you the truth.
Looking back on it, I should say with some amount of pride that our beautiful community has many dear and dedicated folks. The joy of living here, plus that shared experience with others here, has taught me a sense of place. These are the events that weave the material of deep friendships; of a bond to something bigger.

What I learned about us here last year makes me want to talk about the hurricane this year. We watched the weather for weeks, and carefully prepared much better than last time. We stayed at home this time, and witnessed the power of nature's fury first hand.

We had a little more damage than last time. Our dock needs major repairs. The siding on the house needs major replacing. My garden has walked the plank for the third time.
Cleanup is messy, muddy business. Power was off, water from the pump was temporarily unavailable, sun was out and temps were rising. No matter. By now we believe we are all in this together. We inspected houses for neighbors who had evacuated. We reported back to them. We checked in on friends to see how they fared. They checked on us. We planned post Dorian parties as soon as everyone could be ready. We discussed how we could do it even better next time, and what we should do to make the house even more ready for the tough times. We silently gave thanks.


A friend said "This view is why we live here despite the few days we get from hell."




Another says "We live in National Geographic live".





Studies say living closer to nature makes one happier and healthier.

(https://www.yesmagazine.org/happiness/what-happens-when-we-reconnect-with-nature)

(https://www.studyfinds.org/the-closer-you-live-to-nature-the-happier-youll-be-study-finds/)

I put it this way while talking with one of my Grandmother friends.

Here is a picture of the gorgeous sunset following Dorian's departure. It occurs to me that this water is like your grandchild. When the kid turns bratty and throws a tantrum, you just want to walk away. Then it gives you this big sweet smile, and you turn to mush. 

That's what they call "the rest of the story".