Thirty Eight years ago today, I gave birth to a child named John. He has grown into a man of substance and good character. He was a mischievous child; busy, noisy, curious, sensitive, artistic. He has become a risk taker, a go getter, a teacher, a father, a creative problem solver. My son cares about the world. He volunteers. He works every day to improve the lives of other adults through education and life skills. He cares about the people here, now and those to come. In some ways, I'd like to take the credit for the man he is but in the end, it is his own self determination that has molded him. I am proud of him.
John came into the world on a beautiful, chilly, quiet fall day on an army post in Kentucky. This day is quite different. We've had a water rescue in Charleston already. We are living under a curfew, many of us holed up in dry houses as Mathew approaches. I am grateful. The storm has weakened to a Category 2 now. The most we can pray for are slower winds. The storm is bringing massive amounts of water and it is traveling slowly. They say it travels at about ten to fifteen miles an hour so it will be visiting for most of the day.
My dog Keisha needs " to go" so I don my flowery rubber boots, grab the wide, green golf umbrella and we go out. She feels the pelting of the rain and turns to go back in but I coax her out to the yard where we walk into a massive rain soaked puddle. It has been raining steadily for at least twelve hours and I have a standing pond of at least four inches and maybe more. She walks until she finds the perfect high spot and after, looks at me with pleading eyes to go back to the dry house.
The weather watchers say the western eye wall is just on the edge of Charleston traveling over Seabrook and the barrier islands with a storm surge of over 6 feet. Mathew is heading north and hopeful news says the eye may not hit us but that doesn't alleviate the anxiety of the impending winds and anticipated damage. Here in the Lowcountry, our land is composed of red clay and sand. The amount of water coming down saturates the ground and loosens the tree roots which makes it likely that some trees could be uprooted once the high winds start.
Charleston is flooding. If you've ever been downtown when it rains and the tides are higher, you could find yourself in a river of salt water. It is land at sea level. The news shows a picture of a 1965 Ford Fairlane sitting on a city street with water flooding half way up the door. Someone will wake up this morning and their heart will break. It's too late to run now. It's past time to save your stuff. The Ravenel Bridge is experiencing some wind and rain. The news cam shows us sheets of sweeping water across the suspension. It is closed stranding people on the peninsula. One hundred and thirty thousand people are without power in our state. Our unwelcome storm has hit.
We are expecting our power to go off today. At this writing, twenty eight thousand homes in my area alone have lost electricity. We always do during ice storms and strong thunderstorms. It is part of living in paradise. The sun will come up soon and I will walk through our neighborhood and take pictures of the flooding. Our friends and family are texting and calling us for updates. My brother is boarding a plane in Syracuse to start our vacation. Beer King John Durham called and offered to bring us back supplies when they return from their wise flight west.
We are thankful to the thousands of men and women, news, weather reporters, police, fire departments, National Guard, and utility companies who stand by to help us recover once this storm passes. We are in the midst of Mathew. We are good, for now.
No comments:
Post a Comment