As
Hurricane Sandy crawls up the eastern seaboard, menacing the Northeast like
Irene of a year ago, I’m reminded less of that statewide disaster than of the
microburst that karate-chopped my neighbors just a few weeks back.
That
event came from a line of thunderstorms which rolled in late afternoon,
perfectly normal for the season. Here at our end of the mile-long, dead-end
road, the cell arrived with a big whoosh! that rattled the deck furniture then
subsided into a steady rain.
The
following morning, my friend at the other end of the road called and said, “You
haven’t driven out today, have you.”
Her
ominous pause clued me in. “No . . . what happened?”
Out
came the story, of coming home not only to the road blocked by downed trees but
also an exploded environment.
Her
house, unlike the rest of the neighborhood, sits close to the place next door.
We all have good-sized parcels, but the rest of us are spread apart by our
land, out of sight of each other, whereas these two houses stand cheek by jowl
and their barnyards share a fenceline.
My
friend’s spread is semi-open, overlooking fields and hilly vistas, and framed
around the back by trees. Her neighbor’s place hunkers down under a large stand
of pines. Both properties comprise home, barn, and outbuilding(s) clustered in
sight of each other, and both families have livestock: my friend, two horses;
her neighbor, multiple rescue llamas, donkeys, goats, pigs, and ponies, all out
all day.
Far
as we can tell, they got walloped by a microburst. Per Wikipedia: “A microburst
is a very localized column of sinking air, producing damaging divergent and
straight-line winds at the surface that are similar to, but distinguishable
from, tornadoes . . . A microburst often has high winds that can knock over
fully grown trees. They usually last for a duration of a couple of seconds to
several minutes.”
Yep,
that about describes it. In a few seconds, my friend lost 7 trees and her
neighbor lost 32!
What’s
really impressive is that this wind shear threaded the needle, completely
missing every structure. Okay, one limb bounced off a roof, and others crunched
some fencing. But somehow the wind found the only unimpeded path available through
a compact maze. It peeled the maple in my friend’s front yard like a banana upon
landfall, then split or dropped the rest in a line.
Nobody
was home when it happened—except a few dozen terrified animals. Even they were
spared what must have been a blizzard of flying branches and splintering trees.
One donkey, I’m told, sproinged over a fence taller than he was. All the
critters were mincing around with saucer-size eyes when the astounded
homeowners returned.
Some
investigation shows that the wind sliced down the wooded hill behind the properties
but pretty much petered out by the time it reached the main road. It appears
that only these two neighbors got attacked by the sky.
What
a difference a few thousand feet makes! We carried on as normal, clueless; they
were suddenly up to their armpits in cleanup and insurance claims and
rearranging their operations. What caused that burst to zero in on their homesteads?
Only the gods know.
But
it’s proof positive that you can’t take life for granted as long as Mother
Nature is running the show.
