Storm of the Century

I found Burmese Days at a bookstore not long ago. Once I finish rereading Homage to Catalona, which I’m close to doing, I’ll read that for the first time. It’s a wonder that George Orwell escaped Spain with his life in 1937. How close the world came to never having Nineteen Eighty-Four, Animal Farm and the rest.

What have we missed because antibiotics weren’t quite good enough yet to save Orwell in 1950? The man might have written for another 30 or more years. To modify a line of Tom Lehrer’s, it’s a sobering thought to realize that when Orwell was my age, he’d been dead six years.

Actually, I’m taking a detour from Orwell to read a book I chanced on at the library the other day and couldn’t resist, Storm of the Century: The Labor Day Hurricane of 1935, by Willie Drye (2002). I’m pretty sure I first heard about that storm watching Key Largo. Lionel Barrymore’s character mentioned it, at a time when the hurricane would have been still fairly fresh in memory, as Katrina is for us.

“On Labor Day in 1935, a hurricane that produced the record low barometric pressure reading of 26.35 inches hit Florida’s upper Keys, destroying virtually everything in its path,” the Publishers Weekly blurb cited by Amazon says. “In his meticulously researched work, Drye gives a vivid, detailed account of the storm’s approach and impact when it made landfall. Drye was drawn to the story of the unnamed hurricane not only because of its intensity, but also because it killed nearly 260 World War I veterans who were building a highway as part of a federal construction program.”

So far it’s pretty good. The book even has occasional funny asides, something you wouldn’t expect. For instance, Key West as a modern tourist destination was largely invented during the 1930s, to help it recover from the Depression but also the contraction of the area’s ship salvaging and natural sponge businesses earlier in the century. The Florida Emergency Relief Administration led the effort to clean up the town and its attractions, hiring a PR man named E.M. Gilfond to handle publicity.

“Gilford and his staff, which included talented graphic artists, launched a nationwide advertising campaign to lure tourists to Key West,” writes Drye. “When the visitors arrived they were given a booklet published by the Florida ERA that included a map of the city’s attractions.

“The effort was a rousing success. About 40,000 tourists visited Key West during the 1934-35 season, and the city’s income from tourism increased by about 43 percent…

“No one had bothered to confer with Ernest Hemingway before putting his house on the maps handed out to visitors. The author’s home was listed as attraction number 18, and a fair number of those 40,000 tourists tramped onto his property and peered into the windows of his home or gawked at him from the sidewalk as he tried to relax on his porch with a drink and a cigar. One especially bold visitor opened the front door of Hemingway’s home and marched into his living room as though he were walking into a museum.”

Blizzard of the Past

We haven’t had a genuine blizzard this year, just layer after layer after layer of snow accumulation so that the end result, as of today, which was sunny and cold, looks a little post-blizzard. But not quite. The snow’s spread too evenly, unlike the weird drifts you see after strong winds.

In early 2011, we had a real blizzard, which of course I mentioned in passing. But I took more pictures than I posted three years ago. The miniature Matterhorn pile in front of our back door, nearly as tall as I am, was especially annoying. On the other hand, I liked the curls of snow on the roof.

Blizzard11.3The ornamental wooden bridge near the deck became completely impassable. As it is now. Contrast with this. Not that anyone except the dog ever crosses over it.

Blizzard11.2Deep snow can be fun, if you don’t have to shovel it. Three years ago, Lilly didn’t help me dig out. This year, she has been, especially if she wants to borrow the car.

Blizzard11.1Hard to believe it all melted in about a month. Hard to believe the snow we have now will likewise go away. At this point, you forget there’s a ground under there.

Subzero

The National Weather Service and its ilk weren’t kidding about how cold it would be today. According to the NWS itself in its all-cap style (a leftover from teleprinter style?):

* A PROLONGED PERIOD OF DANGEROUSLY COLD AND POTENTIALLY LIFE THREATENING WIND CHILLS WILL OCCUR THROUGH TUESDAY MORNING.

* TEMPERATURES…‌LOWS 15 BELOW TO 20 BELOW ZERO THIS EVENING THROUGH TUESDAY MORNING.

* WIND CHILLS…‌35 BELOW ZERO TO 45 BELOW ZERO THROUGH MIDDAY TUESDAY. THESE FORECAST WIND CHILLS ARE THE LOWEST IN NEARLY 20 YEARS.

* FROST BITE AND HYPOTHERMIA CAN OCCUR IN A MATTER OF MINUTES.

All day, despite abundant sunshine, the cold seemed like it was pressing on the walls of the house, reaching its icy fingers into the small crevices under the doors, frosting some of the windows, impairing the glow of the compact florescent bulb on the back porch, interfering with the operation of the garage door opener, causing problems with our broadband service, and inspiring the furnace to switch on constantly. The good old gas furnace, boon of modernity.

As expected, no one had to go to school, and we got calls in the afternoon confirming that no one would on Tuesday, either. The mailman made it, though I wouldn’t have been upset if he’d skipped the day. The garbageman and recycle truck driver didn’t make it. It was too cold even for the dog. She’d dash outside for a minute, do her business in her favorite patch of back yard – buried pretty deep now – and hurry back.

Up, Up, and Not Quite Far Enough Away

A short, vigorous thunderstorm rolled over my house late this afternoon. A lot of rain for a short time, but it didn’t seem like a lot of wind. I was wrong. A microburst of some kind must have slammed the back yard, because when I looked outside, I thought, something’s missing. What’s missing? The deck umbrella.

The damn thing was mostly broken anyway. One of the supports was busted somehow  during the winter, so even at best it was only half of an umbrella, and yesterday it wasn’t even open. Yet somehow the wind had taken it somewhere. Where? I didn’t see it on the deck or in the yard.

It was on the roof, pole and all. Must have been a freakishly strong wind to open the thing up, lift it and the few pounds of pole away from the cast-iron patio table, and deposit it on the roof. Chairs were moved but not knocked over, and one plant had been tipped over, but otherwise there was no hint of strong wind. Odd.

Once the storm was completely over, I got my ladder – the hard part was getting the ladder out from behind the debris in the garage, not getting to the roof – and persuaded the umbrella wreckage to come back to the ground.