The Hundred Year Storm

I woke again this morning, the distant drone of our neighbor's generator a reminder that opening my eyes to look across the dim room for the clock's red, lighted digits would not be necessary.
The power is still out.
And so Day 3 begins.

I had intended to follow yesterday's post with still more of the sights of Olympic.
But the limited access to both electricity and internet has made sorting and organizing the close to 2000 photos next to impossible.

Sunday's flight home touched down just as the remnants of Hurricane Ike swept through Ohio, leaving the southwestern corner of the state trembling in its aftermath and much of central Ohio in the dark.
I really don't know the extent of the damage, nor the statistics that I'm sure must be broadcast nationally, by now. Without television, we listen only briefly to radio broadcasts listing closings and ever-changing emergency levels. But the governor's in town, and crews have been called in from Texas, Louisiana and the Carolinas for assistance.

We are, as yet, powerless.
Which means the backpacks full of hiking socks, t-shirts, and fleeces wait, patiently for the laundry to begin. Food stores have begun to reopen, as areas reconnect to the grid. But traffic out and about is a snarl--traffic lights out of service and gas stations dark and empty.
We diddle around with what can be done without electric--which, sadly, is not much in the way of cleanup. Fortunately, our house is unharmed. The only structural damage, the loss of the chimney on the garage (a summer kitchen), the tall block stack blown forcefully down and crumbled across the backyard.

Old Oak, May 2007

The 200-year old oak still stands-- my next concern after house, barn and outbuildings. But the small log bench we placed beneath her has been buried under the twisted bough from above. Nearly 2 feet in diameter, sturdy, strong and long, it was torn off by what must have been a fierce wind. I can only imagine the sound of its crushing fall.

Old Oak, September 2008

Days are filled with the ring of chainsaws.
Red cones mark downed wires on almost every roadway.
Food pantries have been opened--with bread and peanut butter, water and ice.

Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe not.

We recharge cell phones and laptops in the few coffeeshops across town, hunkered down in a corner, with everyone else seeking a connection with the rest of the world.
I haven't been able to visit others' blogs or comment in this short visit, but hope to be back in business very soon!
More news here.