When a Hurricane Blew My Coffee Away
And how we survived
We don’t live south enough to suffer much from hurricanes. The night Ike passed (9/1/08) left us a surprise, though: the common calling card of storms.
The most surprising thing about it was that somehow, a tree could fall on the door to my coffee without my knowing it.
Since our house stove is electric, the electricity was out, and it was coffee-time, I calmly felt my way through the dark to our guest house, where the stove is propane, and therefore, where we always solve the electric problems. Lugging an old-time drip-through which I’d loaded with grounds in my dark kitchen, slipping down the hill on flip-flops through the wet world, hardly able to see yet — no yard light and clouds over the moon — always knowing the way, I bumped smack into branches of a pine. Heh.
Could the woods that always so lovingly envelope us actually have thrown branches at us in the night? Perhaps.
Back up to the house for a flashlight. Back down to the guesthouse where the door should be. Zowie!
An entire tree.
In the way.
Of the coffee business. Heh.
Back up to the house for my trusty loppers and a discussion with Husband. Back down to the guesthouse for some pruning.
