The first outlier gusts of wind and rain chased me up the highway from South Carolina as the storm of the century headed north last weekend. Whether or not the storm lives up to its advanced billing will be evident to all of us in the Northeast by the time the Sunday newspaper lands on your doorstep. For me, as I write this, it is still the future.
I went south to spend time with my almost 87-year-old mother, and to give my sister and her husband a chance to get away for a few days. It had been awhile since I had made the long drive alone, and I used the time to drift back into the past, reliving the places and people I had not thought of for so long – the hills of San Francisco and the playgrounds of childhood in Florida, Texas and Tennessee, Norfolk in the rain, and Baton Rouge in the heat of August. It was all vivid in my mind’s eye, as rich and deep as the bright leaves of autumn on Rt. 522 heading south through the hills and valleys of Pennsylvania.
It is good to remember before the wind blows them all away, that we live in one of nature’s perfect places, at least when the leaves are in their glory. On this trip of 600 miles, the most stunning spot was just as Rt. 522 crosses the Juniata River near Mt. Union where you can see upstream into the arch of trees with red and golden leaves that bend down to the water. With the highway almost empty just after dawn, I slowed the car to paint the scene on my memory.
I listened to tunes my daughters had downloaded from iTunes and burned onto CDs. These were not my old rock and roll tunes from before they were born. Most of what I played as I cruised through time and space, through other places and past lives, were recent recordings from new groups and singer-songwriters, songs rarely played on the radio. This is the golden age for alternative music and smart songwriters who may remain in semi-obscurity forever.
As I watch the news updates of the hurricane, I worry for my sister and brother-in-law, anchored on a small sailboat in Charleston Harbor where they are riding out the storm. Having seen too many photographs of boats blown up onto beaches and piers after hurricanes, I wish they would leave the boat behind and find a shelter on the shore. But strangely enough, there are small-time pirates about who will strip a boat of anything valuable if the owner is not there to protect it. What a choice to have to make.
Yesterday, I left South Carolina before dawn, outrunning the rain and the wind as I stopped for a break at the old Cyrus McCormick farm south of Staunton, Virginia, six hours into my drive. We usually are the only ones there in this beautiful historic site, the memorial to the young man who changed farming in America with his automated reaper. We will unpack a picnic lunch and later walk through the old mill turned by a water wheel, walk across the small stream, and gaze at the distant Blue Ridge Mountains. But today I was alone, and the wind was chasing me, so I ate my sandwich quickly and drove on.
So how did your sister and brother in law make out? That’s pretty gutsy, and SCARY!
It was a little rough, but not so bad as expected. The storm was still pretty far out to sea when it passed Charleston.
Good to hear. Thanks for the update!