A Carolina Hurricane Oceanside

We’re in a bit of an interesting situation at the moment, with Hurricane Irene bearing down on us at this point in time.

As you may have noticed, we just moved from one house in Carolina that is right by the ocean to another house “down the road a bit” on another Carolina island that is on the marsh. At this point, we still own both houses, with tenants in our oceanside house, which means we have two houses to track, two houses that could withstand damage this weekend. I’m new to the marsh house, so we’ll see how that goes, but I can tell you a little of what it’s like at times like this living by the ocean.

I want to make sure no one thinks I’m trying to trivialize hurricanes, nor the vast devastation they’ve caused in many areas and to many people. There is no question that a hurricane at its worst is its own kind of awful, something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, ever. It’s just that sometimes, as I watch the media’s portrayal of hurricanes, it seems a bit myopic, from my vantage point at least. So I thought I’d share a few bits of what I’ve experienced, and what I know from the seven years I’ve lived here, as a way of filling out the picture a little more.

In a hurricane situation, our oceanside home takes a beating that starts at our dune. The dune is essentially our first line of defense, protecting the house from wind and water damage as best it can. The bigger the dune, the thicker the dune grass, the better the defense it is for the house. That’s why, from time to time, I, like many residents, plant dune grass to shore up my dune. That’s why I was surprised in a decidedly unpleasant way when, early this summer while I was away orchestrating the details of my move to the new house, someone ran all up and down our entire dune repeatedly, leaving tell-tale footprints, eroding sand and dune grass severed at the roots.

So, as the hurricane moves closer, the water will rise and may start washing against the dune, slowly eating away the sand. Thick dune grass can hold the sand for quite some time, but the stronger the hurricane, the less likely that the sand will hold.

Once the hurricane is eminent, a key factor that everyone watches is where the tide will be at when the hurricane passes over. High tide means more damage, both from flooding in low-lying areas, and from dune erosion as the water will hit higher up on the dune. So, soon I’ll start watching more closely for the projected passing of Irene and how it corresponds with the tides.

Another factor is the speed at which the hurricane is moving. The first time I heard this mentioned, years ago, I thought slower might be better. Not hardly, folks. In many cases, it’s kind of like the difference between slow or fast labor. Either way, it sucks, but talk to someone who took three days to deliver and ask her how worn down she was afterward. (But, only if you know her very well. And only if you are a woman. I’ve seen men attempt this line of questioning, and it never ends well.) Slow-moving storms can often cause more damage, particularly to things like dunes that can be slowly eaten away to nothing, one small piece at a time. I’ve also heard it allows more time for sounds, marshes and inland rivers to flood with the increasing water pouring into the area.

Okay, I have to confess, now that I am writing this, it is making me miss having the news on TV a little. Maybe we should have put that at the top of our move-in to do list, because now I’m even starting to miss the overly-dramatic meteorologist I mentioned yesterday and his penchant for large puddles and lots of staged staggering and grimacing. At least he’d have some cool charts and random useless but interesting tidbits that I’d be listening to in the background. It’s a bit fascinating in a highly nerdy sort of way hearing discussions on perpendicular vs. parallel hits and how air currents from the west factor in to a hurricane’s projected path, for instance. It’s not the least bit comforting when you are actually going through the hurricane, but, during the pre-hurricane stages, when there is still hope the hurricane will be considerate and stay off-shore and away from all islands, it can be oddly therapeutic.

Just to be painfully clear, don’t think I’m advocating under-action or complacency when I jest about the meteorologists, because I’m not. If there was a mandatory evacuation, I would go, and I would certainly consider going during a voluntary evacuation, particularly with children. One of the positive sides of hurricanes in my area nowadays (Did I just say that?) is that, if you act wisely, you may not be able to fully protect your house, but you almost always can protect your life, because hurricanes are now predicted days or even weeks in advance. Certainly, there are other areas of the world where location and/or economics make leaving dramatically more challenging. Here in Carolina, however, we are particularly blessed to be able to drive inland (or take a ferry, in a few cases) to escape the hurricanes. Furthermore, improved construction is going a long way toward minimizing damage.

So I’ll keep you posted on what happens here by the marsh, and as much as I can from afar, on what happens by the ocean. I’m not a meteorologist, or a newscaster. I’m just a mom living on an island, with her eyes directed at the sea.