How to Survive Hurricane Season in a Coastal City
- Stay on top of routine maintenance.
Far ahead of the year’s storm season, carefully inspect trees around your home and remove low-hanging branches — or hire a professional to do the job for you.
Do not roll your eyes at a tree specialist when he calls your tremendous backyard oak a “dangerous widow-maker.” Nor should you accuse him of “highway robbery” when he presents an estimate for its removal, instead of the “light trim” you suggested.
When the year’s first hurricane approaches, you certainly should not text that same specialist repeatedly, begging him to “you know, just stop by quickly — ha, ha you were right!” or, several hours later when the wind is really howling, try to guilt him into action — “IT’S COMING DOWN! I HEAR IT CRACKING! WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!! AH!!!! :(”.
2. Assemble a disaster supply kit.
The National Hurricane Center suggests a basic kit should include water, nonperishable food items, batteries, a flashlight, plus a cell phone and solar charger.
The Center does not recommend stockpiling Trader Joe’s frozen Kung Pao Chicken, miniature ice cream cones or white cheddar corn puffs, however, buy those, too. If you have a sudden craving for Kung Pao, but the store is sold out, what are you supposed to do? Drive to another Trader Joe’s in the middle of a hurricane?
If you lose power, take heart. Corn puffs last decades; for variety, you can dip them in melted ice cream cones. Eat them from the comfort of your broom closet while you listen to your magnificent oak groaning just outside your kitchen window and send broken-hearted, emoji-filled texts to a tree specialist who you once thought of as a “real stand-up guy” but now see as a “self-righteous loser, afraid of some wind.”
3. Develop an emergency plan.
Talk to family early about what to do during a storm. Discuss your evacuation plan, along with where and how you’ll safeguard valuables. If you intend to shelter together, remember: Prolonged periods of forced, indoor family time may further deteriorate already frayed nerves.
For example, a hurricane isn’t the ideal time to talk to your cousin about his dazzling first weeks at an Ivy League school, proposed freshman thesis on alternative energy, or plans to dig wells alongside impoverished orphans in a country so small that you’ve never heard of it. Nor is it wise to take the flashlight from the supply kit and interrogate your sister about what she meant, exactly, when she said that thing she said to you last Thanksgiving in front of everyone. (Don’t be fooled by her blank stare: She knows what you’re talking about. Keep the light steady. Train it on her eyes.)
It isn’t prudent, either, to challenge your Golden Child brother to a game of winner-take-all beer pong for the family’s valuables, because “then at least there will be some fairness, finally, in how the good stuff around here is distributed.”
In fact, throughout the storm, consume alcohol in moderation. Otherwise, you’ll end up in the closet again, avoiding your family and draining your phone’s limited battery as you plot your own post-storm evacuation to a remote island nation and send texts you’ll regret in the morning: “Tree Man. Get out here. Make that oak fall on my cousin.”
4. Remain calm.
Storms are serious business, but keep the situation in perspective. Panicking won’t help.
It’s probably not smart to sit transfixed in front of the TV, watching as cable news meteorologists barely suppress their glee over footage of washed out roadways 10 minutes from your house, while reporters from local news stations race to the storm’s leading edge for their Live! Team! Coverage! Shush your aunt when she suggests “the pretty little gal” in the Action News poncho could have applied some lipstick before heading into those hurricane-force winds. Tell her, truthfully, that she’s distracting you from your Doppler 5000 storm-tracking app.
Likewise, abstain from fighting about the superiority of European forecasts and supercomputers over their American counterparts.
Sure, after Hurricane Sandy you read an article on the topic and now consider yourself an expert, but the argument will only dissolve into a politics-infused brawl, with your husband blaming the storm on global warming and your dad saying, “Don’t you mean ‘climate change’?” while you pull your sister’s hair and your uncle waves his cell phone at your cousin, asking, “If you know so much about alternative energy, genius, why can’t you make my solar charger work?”
If you’re prone to anxiety, stay offline. Pictures on social media of cars half submerged in low-lying areas will only upset you, and you aren’t helping anyone when you post disparaging Yelp reviews about a tree specialist who doesn’t return calls and texts. (“I’m not saying he’s a fascist,” you begin, “or that he doesn’t love America, but … ”)
5. Clean Up.
The hours after a storm can be among the most dangerous periods. Stay inside until emergency crews have cleared the area of downed power lines and debris.
Alternatively, you can haul your kayak from the shed and paddle your flooded neighborhood streets, shouting greetings to people as they sit on their front porch railings in bathrobes, sipping coffee and surveying the damage. When a neighbor who regularly lets his dog urinate on your yard inquires about extra provisions, pretend you are a gondolier in Venice: Speak to him only in Italian. (“Non toccare le mie corn puffs.”)
Once the waters recede, and your family members pack up for their respective homes, hug them, each one, firmly. Be grateful that this storm wasn’t the big one. Make plans to meet again for Thanksgiving, or the next storm. Laugh about the fights. Wish your cousin luck with the wells. Hand over your engagement ring to your brother. He won it, fair and square. Send everyone home with an unopened bag of frozen Kung Pao Chicken.
The following week, call the tree specialist. Tell him you don’t want to go through that angst again. Apologize, profusely, for the Yelp review, the name-calling.
When he comes to inspect the tree, though, balk at his suggestion to remove it. “How about a light trim?” you ask hopefully. After all, it is a gorgeous tree. If he holds firm, change your approach. Accuse him of highway robbery. Rail against rising income inequality and fat-cat tree specialists. Ask him: “Who could take down a tree like this? Imagine what it’s been through, decades and decades of life.” Stand beside him in your backyard. Shield your eyes and blink into the afternoon light. “I mean, look,” you say, placing your hand on the oak’s broad, solid trunk. “It’s still standing.”
