Stormy Weather

Sunday night’s wind blew sand off the beach and into the streets of Plum Island

In the fine tradition of big-ass North Atlantic storms around Halloween (see: the so-called “perfect storm” of 1991; hurricane Sandy, 2012), New England got hit by a doozy of a tempest this past Sunday night, Oct. 29. Spawned by the atmospheric marriage of the remains of tropical storm Phillipe and a cold front moving off the mid-Atlantic coast of the U.S., Sunday’s night storm brought ferocious winds and heavy rains to the northeastern part of the country — including my snug-and-cozy domicile on the quaint little sand dune known as Plum Island.

Oh, baby! Did it blow Sunday night! We had a storm back in March — a standard winter nor’easter — that delivered official winds as high as 77 mph and was as impressive as any I’d ever seen at Plum Island, but Sunday night’s storm was different. For starters, in this storm the wind came out of the east-southeast. That may not seem like a big deal but my home is aligned northeast-to-southwest, so the wider side of of the house bore the brunt of Sunday night’s winds. And those winds, while less than March’s winds — highest velocities were in the 60s — were sustained for several hours, prompting me to actually start to wonder if something major was going to happen to the house. I had fears of the solar panels getting yanked off and taking the roof with it, or the decks (which my brother is currently rebuilding) blowing down, or windows caving in, or…

Monday morning broke sunny and beautiful, but the ocean was a little worked up…

In the end, we had it pretty easy. The extent of the damage was limited to leaks on the windward side of the house and a bunch of shingles on the newly repaired roof being torn off. The former occurred in areas my brother and I had earlier this autumn identified as needing replacement so there was no surprise there, while the latter is covered by the manufacturer since they were just installed a month ago. So…no big deal. Hell, our electricity didn’t even blink.

But driving around the following evening (Monday being hockey night, after all), the damage was pretty amazing. Heading into Newburyport, the opposite side of the Merrimack River was eerily dark as Salisbury remained without power. And several other towns in Essex County were not only still dark but trees were down everywhere, several roads remained closed and crews were still at work clearing debris off power lines. Hockey went on as scheduled (whew!) but two days later there remains a lot of work to be done. Apparently, some 300,000 people in Massachusetts were without power for various lengths of time (some remain without power through Wednesday). Up in Maine, many places are also still without power. And there is plenty of damage to both property and forest throughout New England.

And another thought occurred to me as I lay awake Sunday night between 3 and 4 a.m. during the peak winds: our winds, while certainly fierce, were less than half what Barbuda, St. Martin, Dominica, the BVIs and Puerto Rico (and other places) endured during hurricanes Irma and Maria — and those places had those incomprehensible winds for the better part of a day, not just a few hours. (Our storm was moving at 50+ mph when it hit New England so it blew right through; those hurricanes took their damned sweet time as they obliterated those islands.) So while I was feeling humbled as I listened to the wind and felt the house shake, I knew I had it pretty damned easy. (And one other, somewhat related thought occurred to me also: the thought of being at sea in such winds — an uncommon though not rare event — was frightening. But that’s something I’ll have to worry about later.)

This photo was posted to Facebook on Monday. I wonder who that “lone loco surfer” could be? Hmm…

Of course, I did get to enjoy some benefits of the storm. The waves kicked up Sunday night were quite large on Monday — too large to venture into until Monday afternoon, and even then it was 100 percent ludicrous as the winds, now blowing westerly or offshore, were still steady in the high 30s, so the currents were crazy and getting into a wave was damned near impossible. But venture out I did, and I stayed for two whole waves before I pulled the chute. Tuesday saw much smaller but still fun longboard waves, which I enjoyed for a couple of chilly hours. The Atlantic is cooling down…

Just another autumn in New England.

Reality Check: Plum Island

I posted this on a Facebook page (it’s public; you don’t need a Facebook account to see the photos and videos) dedicated to life on my home island: Plum Island, Massachusetts. As some of you may know, Plum Island took a beating this winter, with a series of storms starting in October that eroded the beach dramatically, culminating with a nor’easter earlier this month that claimed six homes.

The political fallout continues with surviving homes being fortified with rocks, concrete blocks and other illegal hard barriers. The town of Newbury (where the damage took place) has been openly complicit with the illegal action and the state Department of Environmental Protection has basically wimped out of enforcing its own rules. The tragedy is that these fortifications, while well intentioned, will actually accelerate erosion on Plum Island and hasten the time when all the island’s residents — not just those who suffered so much this winter — will be chased back to the mainland.

Anyway, I posted the following note/column on the Facebook page, under the same title I’ve used for this blog post, on March 12:

It’s impossible for anyone with the slightest shred of human decency not to be moved by the destruction that took place on Plum Island recently. Seeing people lose their homes and their cherished possessions tears at everyone’s hearts, and realizing that so much that one holds dear can be at the mercy of forces larger than us is humbling to all who live in an uncertain world.

But in the rush to try to remedy the situation that has befallen Plum Island, people need to keep reason and perspective in place so as to not make things worse. And the first step in taking a reasoned approach to Plum Island is to remember a few facts.

Fact: All who live on Plum Island — from oceanfront to the high dunes along the spine of the island to those on the marsh — know that one day their property will be taken by the Atlantic Ocean. Anyone who thinks differently is either in denial or doesn’t know the basic mechanics of a barrier-beach island. Certainly no one expected current homes to be damaged anytime soon, but the fact remains that one day what currently constitutes “Plum Island” will be gone.

Barrier-beach islands are designed by Mother Nature to migrate in their role as protector of the mainland. And what humans refer to as “Plum Island” is really nothing more than the above-water segment of a much larger, dynamic sand structure that, in order to protect the mainland, extends well out to sea. The offshore sand bars that migrate with storm and season are in fact part of the overall structure that is the whole of Plum Island. And like those offshore (and underwater) segments, the above-sea-level segment migrates. To expect the above-sea-level segment to be static is to deny reality. Plum Island is really more of an ongoing process than a static entity, and anyone who would live for any amount of time on the island has to acknowledge that fact.

Fact: Houses on Plum Island have been falling into the sea since there have been houses on Plum Island. The first home to wind up on the beach in this storm did the exact same thing in 1976. No, not during the legendary Blizzard of ’78 but rather during a run-of-the-mill nor’easter two years prior to that famous storm. Storms in previous decades wiped out cottages, dance halls and other buildings, so the loss of property on Plum Island is nothing new. Current losses are unprecedented only in their volume.

Fact: All attempts to use rigid structure to protect human property are doomed to failure, and in all likelihood exacerbate the problem. There are countless photos on this Facebook page that document clearly the ineffectiveness of concrete blocks, huge boulders, coir bags and other human defenses against the ocean. Photos show perfectly intact defenses surrounded by greater erosion than might have occurred if the sand had been allowed to move freely. Indeed, it can also be argued that some of the structures and actions contributed to erosion by diverting and adding wave action to places that wouldn’t have sustained such activity otherwise, thus costing neighbors their property.

Some experts are adamant that the beach scraping done over the course of the fall and winter actually contributed to the erosion along Annapolis Way. “When the bulldozers had scraped the beach they had left a football-field-sized strip of depressed beach below the high tide mark,” wrote award-winning science author William Sargent in the Newburyport Current on Feb. 1. “This had simply channeled the 15-foot-high waves directly toward the houses, scouring out an additional 10 feet of former beach from beneath their foundations. The beach scraping had actually caused 10 vertical feet of erosion.”

Sargent was writing about the post-Christmas storm and his column makes clear the result of such intervention. “The fact that such damage had not happened anywhere else in Massachusetts was prima facia evidence that the scraping had actually caused the erosion. It had not been a natural disaster, but a manmade tragedy — a manmade tragedy long in the making.”

So now, in the post-storm rush to erect walls of rock and concrete, and to create manmade sand dunes with sand from below the tide line, people are likely dooming what little beach remains to further erosion. And with it, accelerating the erosion of their neighbors’ property on Plum Island.

Expect to hear calls for a sea wall or some other semi-permanent protection on Plum Island. To see what sea walls do to a beach, drive a few miles north to Hampton, N.H., where there is no beach except at low tide and where the stones that line the sea wall were tossed by the recent storm like so much confetti over the wall, onto Ocean Boulevard and into people’s yards. With every additional barrier, Plum Island’s beach erosion worsens, to the detriment of those still living there and those who would visit.

Fact: Blame is being tossed in several directions except where it belongs. Various scapegoats are being cited, especially the usual suspects: the state and federal governments. Depending upon who’s doing the talking, it’s either the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers’ fault for not maintaining the jetty at the mouth of the Merrimack River, or it’s the state Department of Environmental Protection’s fault with their onerous regulations regarding human activity on beaches. In reality, the real culprit is obvious and is the only one to whom there is no recourse: the Atlantic Ocean. Whether the jetties are maintained and whether or not humans can do whatever they want on the beach, the ocean and her storms are beyond the reach of all attempts to tame her.

And expect things to get worse. Politicians will argue whether global warming is caused by man or is part of the natural cycle, but no one will dispute the fact that the Earth’s climate is warming, and with that warming will come sea-level rise. As sea level rises, property on Plum Island gets ever more in range of ocean storms, even without an increase in intensity.

Fact: The March nor’easter was not an unusually fierce nor’easter. In fact, the December and February storms were more intense, with higher winds and higher waves. And the March storm occurred at a time of relatively moderate astronomical tides. So this storm that did all the damage was nothing special, nothing unusual. What made it so devastating was that it came on the heels of those earlier storms. Starting with hurricane Sandy in late October, each successive storm has further weakened the island’s natural defenses. The March storm simply took advantage of those weakened defenses to reach further into the dunes than its predecessors — all natural processes for which there is no answer. It is to be hoped that no further nor’easters strike at the currently weakened island, but keep in mind that there was an impressive nor’easter in early June 2012. This is New England; harsh weather can happen at any time.

Fact: The beach will replenish itself over time. The sand that was below and around the foundations of homes did not just disappear in the recent storms. It now sits elsewhere in the entirety of the construct that is Plum Island: it sits underwater, in the sand bar complex just offshore. That sand will wind up back on the beach over the course of the benign weather periods that are the norm at Plum Island. That’s how the island works: built up during the calm times, scoured away during the storms. There are before-and-after photos from previous storms showing just that process taking place — and relatively quickly, too. Impeding the flow of sand through attempts to protect property will lessen that natural process and further endanger the very property people hope to protect.

Fact: The damage at Plum Island extends well beyond those who have lost their homes. Houses a full quarter-mile from the ocean and never endangered will now see their insurance rates go up, in some cases dramatically, and some residents have said insurance companies have already indicated they will be canceling their policies. And if insurance cannot be secured for a property, there’s no way a potential buyer can secure a loan, making it almost impossible for anyone to sell their property, whether threatened or not. And that’s not even taking into account the fact that property values just took a huge hit as the desire to live on Plum Island wanes. Who wants to buy a home in a place that could get demolished in the next storm or two? What will that loss in property values do to the tax base in Newbury? Will people in Byfield see their services cut because the town’s revenue decreases? And what about future development on the island? Earlier this winter the town of Newbury gave final approval to the remodel and expansion of an existing home on Fordham Way that is wedged between two homes that were devastated by the recent storm and are now unable to be occupied. Will that construction project on the primary dune go forward so the town can earn some tax revenue in the short term? Or will the town decide that the short-term gain isn’t worth the money it will spend when that home is under siege in a future storm, and that keeping the dune intact is of more value to the rest of the island?

These impacts are minor compared to losing one’s home, to be sure, but they are very real financial impacts and, as such, are of profound importance to those still living on Plum Island.

It’s ironic that the damage occurred in Newbury, a town with relatively low tax rates for the area and a town that cannot even pay for its own basic services. Three times Newbury residents have voted down a tax override that would support things like schools and a normal operating budget. So Newbury residents won’t pay for their own services, services typically provided by a town, yet they want people in Worcester or Kansas to help foot the bill so they can live in a place where houses have already wound up in the ocean?

Homeowners whose property is threatened have said they don’t need state or federal money for help, they just want those state and federal governments to get out of the way. But who pays for the Corps of Engineers to do the work on the jetty those people insist will save everything? Who pays for the state police and Massachusetts Army National Guard to be present when the inevitable happens and a storm threatens? And if homeowners’ efforts to save their property cause the destruction of others’ property, who is responsible? That’s one of the reasons regulations exist regarding beach alteration: to prevent expansion of damage.

It’s understandable in these first few days after such devastation that people are doing anything they can think of to save what’s left. These are indeed desperate times and so desperate measures are called for. But in the headlong rush to save what’s left, people may actually be dooming what isn’t currently threatened. That’s why reason and a broader perspective are required rather than just knee-jerk reactions. It’s too late to save a lot of the damaged properties on Plum Island. It’s not too late to make sure we don’t accelerate the island’s demise.

I’m Still Here

I’ve started this column/post a thousand times over the past four months. In my head, at least. Getting it down on this piece of electronic paper has proven a bit more challenging. But in the spirit of all the catch phrases and self-help gurus who’ll tell you/me to just write anything, badly, rather than not write, I’m going to spout off a bunch of brackish, murky thoughts for no other reason than to (hopefully) prime the pump for the clearer, tastier water lying deeper in the well.

So for this first gargle, let’s catch up a bit, shall we? In case you missed it, back in the fall of 2012 I was taking steps toward a dream of mine. In early October, I was in Annapolis, Maryland, checking out the U.S. Sailboat Show, looking at a few boats for sale in that area and working with a friend who has a business in the marine industry. With my mother’s blessing, I had given notice that October was my last month in my apartment in Newburyport and was planning on  chasing life once again. The primary plan was to head south toward turquoise waters on a boat of my own sometime around early November. If my search for the right, pretty-much-ready boat didn’t pan out, I was going to head somewhere, anywhere, in hopes of rekindling that fire that I had in 2011 that got me writing again. Something about adventuring always seems to get my creative juices flowing. Regardless of the specifics, my life was going to change.

And change it did. On Saturday, Oct. 6, I emerged from a seminar at the sailboat show to find a message waiting for me on my phone. I dialed my voice mail and heard my father’s shaky voice tell me to call him back, that it was an emergency. I found a quiet corner of the hotel, away from the seminar rooms, and called my father. He told me that sometime in the early hours of the morning, my mother had fallen down a flight of stairs at the inn where they were staying in Maine. My father said that she’d sustained a concussion and a broken arm, and that she’d been helicoptered to the Central Maine Medical Center in Lewiston. I told him I was on my way and would start driving back immediately, that I’d be there around midnight.

Something didn’t feel right though, so I called the hospital back as I was driving out of Annapolis. I was connected to the doctor who said he was glad I had called as he didn’t think my father was thinking too clearly in light of what had happened and then proceeded to tell me what the real story was. Mom had sustained heavy brain trauma and had been revived once already. She was on life support but the prognosis was not good.

I damn near drove off the freeway as the doctor ran through the situation step by step. I was hyperventilating and couldn’t breathe. I was crying uncontrollably and couldn’t see. I focused on taking deep breaths as the phone call concluded and was able to see signs for the Baltimore airport. A quick exit, I parked, grabbed a few things threw them in my bike-messenger-style computer bag and entered the terminal. I found an AirTran flight that went direct to Portland, Maine, in an hour and a half and booked a ticket. I then called my sister and brother out west and told them what the doctor had told me, and that they needed to get on planes ASAP.

I got to the hospital in Lewiston around 6pm. I proceeded to stay up all night by my mother’s hospital bed, but it had been clear to me from the moment I walked in that she was already gone. My siblings arrived around lunchtime the next day and we made the decision to stop life support. That’s one thing about our family: as disparate as our attitudes about pretty much everything are, we are unanimous in our belief that essence precedes existence. Mom passed away very shortly thereafter on the seventh of October.

There was a whirlwind of activity in the week following my mother’s passing, what with a wake and a funeral and getting the process started to deal with her estate. I chronicled some of what was going through my head at the time in the previous two posts in this blog. In those posts, I made it clear that I was not going to repeat the mistakes my family had made in 1985 when my brother died. I was going to get the help and support I needed to avoid drifting off into some abyss, and I was going to do so in an open and honest manner here on TerraStomper. Obviously, since this is my first writing since the eulogy I posted back in October, that didn’t happen.

What did happen was that I left Newburyport all right: I moved three miles east, back to the family home on Plum Island. I was there three weeks later, instead of in London as I had planned after Mom’s passing, because hurricane Sandy was bearing down on the East Coast and I didn’t want to leave my father alone to deal with the inevitable mess she left in her wake (and also because I was hoping to get some great surfing in).

With apologies to those in New York, New Jersey and Connecticut, Sandy turned out to be a big dud here in Massachusetts. But that Monday evening, the 29th, I was waiting for my father to join me at the dinner table when I heard him cry out. I was sitting in the chair my mother always sat in at the table and turned to see him falling backwards in slow motion. I jumped up and caught him before he hit the floor and laid him down slowly. After he rested a bit, we tried to have him roll one way. Too painful. We tried the other way. Too painful. He tried to sit up. Way too painful. At that point, I pulled the chute and called 9-1-1.

Fortunately, with all the hype surrounding Sandy, there was an ambulance stationed on Plum Island in case of evacuation. The EMTs reached the house in no time and immediately determined that dad had broken his hip. Whoosh! They whisked him off to the hospital and I followed in the car. Again, thanks to Sandy, everyone was bundled up in their homes so the hospital was empty and dad was settled into a room in relatively short order.

The next morning, the orthopedic surgeon — who lives just down the street from us on Plum Island and who has worked on a ton of friends — arranged to perform surgery in the early afternoon. Dr. Steve worked his magic and dad’s hip was repaired with a couple of pins: one running the length of his femur and another pinning that whole arrangement in place in his hip. A couple of small incisions were all that showed anything had been done at all.

Except that dad suffered complications. His blood pressure was very low and the anticoagulants that he’d been taking for years as a result of his irregular heartbeat (for which he’d had a defib/pacemaker installed in his chest in August) prevented the wound from clotting and his leg filled with blood. Infection followed, as did an inability to swallow and keep food or liquids down — the result of dad’s intubation during surgery. For two weeks, my father lay on his back at Anna Jaques Hospital in Newburyport, and in that two weeks, what strength he had evaporated.

Dad then spent six weeks in a pair of rehabilitation facilities, improving in fits and starts on the long, slow road to recovery. (The completely and totally fucked-up health-care system in this country will be the subject of a separate, later post.) But through it all, his spirit was slowly waning. The soul-crushing nature of nursing homes was taking its toll. So on Christmas Eve, a good two weeks-plus early I would guess, I brought my father home to Plum Island. He made it home for the holidays, and though the house was pretty empty it definitely provided my father with a pick-me-up. He’s been home for five weeks now, slowly improving, since then and his spirit has made the long journey back.

And that’s where we are at this point. Obviously, there’s a lot more to it than just this quick recap. Suffice it to say: these have been the longest, most arduous four months of my life, without question. And therein, I hope, lies some of the growth I had hoped to capture along the way. That I couldn’t find the strength to do so as it all was happening is a testament to the exhaustion I’ve been wrestling with. With this gargle, as I called it, I’m taking the first step back, finally.