Living in West Virginia, I’ve been fortunate to escape dealing with any significant natural disaster. That’s probably because floods are the most common disasters in the Mountain State, and since I’ve never lived in a floodplain, I’ve never had to experience one.
But over the past few years, I’ve had warning signs that my time was up.
In 2010, about four feet of snow fell in four days. I spent that week shoveling snow while my husband spent that week in a hotel in D.C. at the courtesy of his employer.
Last October, we were hit with an abnormal autumn snow that knocked down 2 1/2 trees in my yard. While I was listening to the cracking of limbs and the thump of trees, my husband was in D.C. working.
With these warning signs, you’d think I’d have been preparing to handle a real disaster on my own. Instead, I chose to ignore the signs. That’s probably because I’m a complete wimp when it comes to any kind of danger I can’t control. At such times, I always grab my dog and hold on tight.
Last Friday night, I almost suffocated my poor dog.
My neighbors had gone out for the evening, so I was at their house keeping an eye on our ten year-old daughters and our dogs… my German Shepherd and their Golden Retriever. Since it was extremely hot, all of us spent at least some time in their pool.
At some point, I commented that the sky had gotten unusually dark. I probably shouldn’t have listened to a ten year-old who told me that was normal, but I hadn’t heard that we were in for any severe weather.
So, when lightning began to flash in the distance, all activities moved to the “pool room.” I worked on my blog, the girls flipped through television channels, the dogs romped and the wind blew. And then the rain came and the wind blew harder… a lot harder. Then it began to howl.
Being a weather geek, I checked the radar and saw a dark red mass moving towards my town. Being a naive weather geek, I didn’t get too concerned since I hadn’t heard any sirens or warnings.
My warning came with a roar when the wind blew open the pool room door and raged around the room. The next few minutes are a blur. I remember telling the girls to move into the hall. I remember trying to shut the door. I remember grabbing my laptop, and I remember grabbing both the dogs.
And then the power flickered and went out.
We sought refuge in the room of a ten-year old girl. And while I did worry about the girls, I have to say it was the dogs that I held fast. The neighbors’ dog sat in my lap, and my dog stood guard. The girls screamed, lightning flashed and the storm raged. And then, my neighbors’ son and his friend came home. Ever protective, my German Shepherd decided that his barking would be a great addition to Mother Nature’s latest composition.
I eventually convinced my daughter that we could dash across the yard to go home, and we spent the remainder of our night in the basement.
By the time my husband went to work shortly after midnight, all the remained of the derecho (also known as a land hurricane) were downed trees, downed power lines and a woman who wouldn’t sleep for days.
The next morning, my dog and I took our normal walk. Neighbors were already up removing debris from their yards and their roofs.
Highway workers had already blocked roads, and Potomac Edison crews were already out trying to repair the damage. And the homeless guy at the park was eating his breakfast in his normal spot.
But nothing seemed normal to me except that my favorite dog was on the end of his leash walking happily over broken branches. He was even willing to pause while I used my Blackberry to document the impact of the derecho on my little corner of the world. He obliged for the next couple days as well.
In retrospect, we were lucky. We were only without power for a couple of days. My parents, who live nearly six hours away but experienced the same storm, still don’t have power. And, even with all the damage, what I’ve noted most is how many tall trees are still standing. For every tree that went down, hundreds more didn’t. To me, that’s nature’s way of reminding us all of how resilient we can be.
And, for the most part, I know I am. As long as I have my dog by my side.