Don't Mess With Mister In-Between

Hurricane Isaias bullied its way across the Atlantic Ocean, bringing destructive winds, tornadoes and flooding rainfall to the West Indies, the Dominican Republic, and the Bahamas, before setting its sights on the USA.

It took a brief swipe at my old home in Florida, and then pounded up the East Coast. By the time it reached our doorstep in White Plains, New York, I felt a strange sense of familiarity, transported back to the eighteen years we spent living in the Sunshine State. In those days, the threat of dangerous weather was so constant, it came packaged every year as "hurricane season".

And yet, in spite of the annual death risk, life in Orlando was a very positive experience.

Maybe it was the sunny blue skies, or perhaps it was the wholesome Disney spirit that saturated every corner of the region; whatever the source, I experienced positivity everywhere, even when a shoe store couldn’t help me:

"Excuse me," I asked. "Do you have these in a size nine?"

"I sure DON'T!" came the gleeful, smiling reply.

This positive approach to a negative answer tripped me up every time. But as odd as it was, I preferred the over-cheerful: “Sure don’t!” to the situation in England, where I grew up with the opposite approach. Something along the lines of:

"Isn't it a LOVELY day today?"

"Yes, but they say it's going to RAIN later!"

There are so many positive terms used at Disney. Every employee is called a "cast member", to make people feel part of an exciting show. When cast members are doing their work in the parks, they are "on stage", helping to make the experience so good for the visiting public - always referred to as the "guests". Each cast member on every level is made to feel essential to the company – from the highest paid executive, to the people on minimum wage in charge of the "honey buckets" who collect the..."honey"... that sometimes comes out of the rear ends of horses during the Magic Kingdom parade.

In recent months, as the Coronapocalypse locked us all down and removed the routines of our days, I've managed to retain the old "Disney spirit" of positivity, by sheltering in my love of home gardening. From a small and humble collection of seeds and cuttings, my tomato vines and sunflowers flourished, strawberries thrived, while peppers, garlic and herbs produced tasty pasta sauce ingredients. Carrots and radishes spouted this week, and even the popcorn kernels, planted as a whimsical experiment, grew tall and elegant.

Each plant has been amazing to watch. The results have surrounded me with beauty, and provided a shelter from stress, a connection to nature, and a spiritual link to a complex Higher Power.

Which is why I found it puzzling that Hurricane Isaias headed towards New York, with an aim to destroy everything.

In 2004, the “Sunshine State,” was nicknamed the “Plywood State” by media after it was pummeled by four hurricanes in only six weeks. A friend of mine lost their house completely, and two million people were left without power. Fortunately, my home was on the same electricity grid as the local hospital, so whenever the lights suddenly went out, we were always the first to have power restored quickly.

As much as my family loves to mock me when I go into "Action Dad" mode, I did all the correct preparation for high winds to hit White Plains. Potted plants were placed under shelter, garden chairs were tied down, and the patio umbrella was secured, so that it wouldn't "Mary Poppins" itself into the clouds.

When Hurricane Isaias moved in, it came with a ferocity that I hadn't seen for almost a decade. By the time it reached us, its energy had been reduced to a tropical storm, but within the dark clouds, lightning flashed violently, and the winds reached speeds that were unexpectedly strong.

Palm trees are beautifully designed to withstand hurricanes. Instead of branches, they produce a canopy of large leaves which are able to bend and fold to protect them from the strongest winds. If you cut though the stump of a palm tree, instead of rings, you will find a tightly-packed structure of tiny straws. This makes the tree flexible, able to bend as much as 50 degrees before snapping. These straws continue to form a dense cluster of roots, creating a heavy base that keeps the tree anchored firmly into the soil.

I am not very good at identifying trees, but I am certain that the giant thing growing in front of my house in New York is absolutely NOT a palm.

It is huge, heavy, and old, and as the winds picked up, it started to crack and bend dangerously toward my two daughters' bedrooms. As much as my girls love to NOT listen to me, they could hear I was serious when I asked them to relocate to the back of the house.

Then a huge clap of lighting filled the air, followed by a crashing sound, as a large tree destroyed a neighbor's car and crushed the roof of their house. Fortunately, no one was hurt, but the danger around the neighborhood continued. I watched as a large branch overhanging my driveway became loose, before it broke off and came crashing to the ground, landing EXACTLY between our two cars, missing them both.

"Oh - THAT was lucky," I thought, for the first (of four) times that afternoon.

"Da-aad!" My daughter called from the safe room at the back of the house. "A tree just fell on the back of our house!"

Again, fortunate that no one was hurt. I ran to inspect the damage, and was surprised to see that a tree had fallen onto a large bush, which had cushioned the topple, and allowed it to ease gently to rest on the side of my house without causing any damage at all. This was the same tree that my wife wanted to remove from our garden; the same tree that someone wanted to charge us a THOUSAND dollars to remove.

"Oh - THAT was lucky."

While I was in the backyard, I ran over to see how my raised bed was doing in the storm. The plants growing low to the ground were unaffected. The only casualty had been the top part of one of the tomato plants, which had snapped off and blown away. I'm guessing that my technique to grow the tomato vines tall and thin had protected them from the full force of the wind. Then I noticed that my neighbor's small, ugly, thorny tree had been completely uprooted and destroyed. This was the same tree that overshadowed my garden, preventing light from reaching my raised bed in the afternoon.

Later, I pretended to the neighbor that I was sad to see the poor tree go, when in fact all I could really think of was:

"Oh - THAT was lucky."

And then the power went out.

Not the power to my house, or the three or four houses to the left and to the right of us. The power went out to EVERY OTHER house in my neighborhood; on the opposite side of our street, and all houses for three or four streets around us.

"Oh - THAT WAS lucky."

When the storm blew over and the winds subsided, I found the piece of the tomato vine that had snapped off. I trimmed it down and planted it in the garden. Along the stem, the plant has little “hairs”, which can develop into roots if you plant it deep enough.

I’m not sure it will grow, I’m POSITIVE!