Dark Days

I wrote the other day about the fearsome wind storm we had last week.  That is a part of Point Roberts that I don't usually think about, except when it is happening.  Somehow, human that I am, I lose track of the risks while closely tracking the benefits of one choice or another.  And then a day comes that reminds you exactly how negligent you have been about keeping track of the risks.

The picture above, which Ed took, in the late afternoon of a very cloudy and rainy day when there could have been a wind storm (although there wasn't) makes me realize why it's so easy to forget the difficult parts of Pt. Roberts when you are not in the difficult parts.  These houses are far down on South Beach.  They would appear (at least to me) to be too close to the water, too fragile in their construction, too likely to suffer damage of one kind or another if the wind and the ocean pick up.  And yet, how beautiful they are.  Risk seems a silly concept when you see them in this light.

Well, that's how humans often think, I suspect.

Winter Winds

Here on Point Roberts, we have the ocean on three sides and, although every ocean side is within easy walking distance, I rarely have much to do with the water parts.  I live up in the middle in the middle of the trees.  I am the kind of person who has a lot of fir and cedar branches everywhere when we have a big wind, as we did this week.  If you are down very near the water, it is different.  It is not the trees but the actual ocean you have to worry about. 

This past Sunday night storm was one of the noisiest and frightening we've ever been here for.  It sounded to me as if there was a jumbo jet constantly passing over us; to Ed, it sounded more like a train constantly going by, a steady sound that you heard underneath the sound of big gusts of wind through the trees.  I don't know what it would sound like down by the ocean where you don't get the amplification from the trees.  Of course, you get the crashing waves, and both the sound and sight of them in a big wind can be very fearsome.  Fortunately, the Sunday night wind stopped on the Monday morning and the high tides did not lead to significant flooding because the wind's direction did not push the water toward the shore.

Two years ago, it was much worse because the wind was pushing the water and there was lots of flooding.  And lots of damage.  Could, doubtless will, happen again.  But even despite the speed of the winds, we had very little tree branch shedding at our house.  There was one 8-foot or so branch, maybe 3-inches in diameter that came down right next to the car, but not on it; on it could have caused some damage.  The branch was big and heavy, but not too heavy for me to move it back to the downed branches pile.  And other than that, there were only small fir and cedar pieces (lots of them), very small pieces, all over the yards.  In the big winds a couple of years ago, two of our neighbors had large, severed tree branches shoot down through their roofs like javelins, a performance requiring considerable repair in the one case and a new roof in the other.  So we are glad this week, in a week when we are hearing a lot about natural disaster, not to have had one, even on a small scale. 

Discontent

“Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house   
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.”

Thus sayeth Richard III about the accession of his brother to the throne of England.  Well, of course it doesn’t turn out well, but there is some echo of our current situation here, independent of how it turns out.  It is certainly possible that there will be at some time a glorious summer for us here in Point Roberts, but at the moment, we are getting the winter of our discontent, and particularly we are getting all the clouds that lour’d upon our house fully engaged in their lowering.  At noon, it is as dim as at 4 p.m.  And by 4 and change, it is dark.

This month has offered us unrelenting rain and cloud, with some days a tremendous amount of rain, while some other days offer us only quite a lot of rain.  Although there have been days—a few—which have had scraps of sun or at least of lightening skies, they have been so few and the brighter periods so brief that by now they are about as easy to believe in as that glorious summer supposed to be somewhere ahead.  November is always like this, but the cheerful days of summer always make one forget what is coming straight on.

Up here on the Sunshine Coast, where I am at the moment, we have not this past week had the hard winds that knocks out the power.  But down in Point Roberts, I am told, there has been much crashing of trees and much knocking out of power.  This loss of power is a real hardship if it goes on for more than a few hours and if one has no independent source of heat or cooking other than the disappeared electricity.  It is at least a good thing that we have neither creeks nor rivers to overflow, although flooding from the ocean can occur.   We are hoping that no tree has downed itself on our P.R. house and garden, but our near neighbors, who would know, are not in residence right now, either.  So we will have to wait until next week to see what has become of us.

Much discontent. 

'Blow, Blow Thou Winter Wind'

That’s what tonight promises us. We normally don’t get much snow in the winter, or very low temperatures, but we always get big wind. But tonight they are promising all three for our dining and dancing entertainment. The most immediate worry about a big wind storm is that we’ll lose the power and whether I’m in Roberts Creek in B.C., or in Point Roberts in WA, my locale will pretty much be the end of the list of places whose power needs to be and gets repaired. We have gas heat and cooking at both places, which is a very good feature, but we don’t have gas-powered internet or lighting.

No internet can be tolerated, I believe on principle, but the fact is I’m awfully used to just having it instantly and constantly available. No electric lights, on the other hand, is a little harder with the days being so short. But candles and propane lamps and flashlights are perfectly tolerable substitutes if it doesn’t go on for too long. I think the longest we’ve been without power in the past 16 years is about 3 days after one storm. Irritating, not desirable, but endurable. Some people seem very enthusiastic about generator backups (which are pretty pricey), but I’ve never found it necessary, probably because I don’t keep tons of food in the freezer.

The real thing to worry about is trees falling and big branches breaking off. The latter is particularly worrisome when the temperature is so low because the trees will have zero flexibility, will be very brittle. Both our houses are surrounded by many tall trees and the firs’ and maples’ branches, in particular, are prone to crashing down in big wind storms. Last winter, two of our neighbors had large branches come through their roofs. This is not good in a very big way, even if you are not in the room where it comes through to. Lots of people address this problem by cutting all the trees down on their property. They move up here because they love the trees, but they aren’t up to having them on their property. Good of us to keep them available for their scenery requirements. We can think of our place as a kind of tree zoo, I guess.

But at this moment, you just do what you can. I ground a container of coffee beans because we also don’t have a gas-powered coffee grinder. I put out the candles and matches and oil and propane lamps so they are readily available. Put my tiny flashlight in my pocket. And that’s about it. Ten o’clock tonight is the expected time of arrival. I’ll just go to bed then, anyway, and sleep through it, maybe. That would be good.

As Shakespeare reminded us, though, all those centuries ago:

"Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly. “

If I’m gone for a few days, you’ll know that life has just gotten very jolly.