Skip to main content

Nature Knocking

Crash!

The wind howled: the house shook, a window shattered, hail pounded the windows as tree branches splintered and flew just inches outside our bedroom's sliding glass door. It was 1:30 a.m. February 1, 2016. Jolted back to our earthly reality we leapt out of bed.

"Oh my God, the giant tree in the back yard has fallen,” Lori shrieked.

When nature comes knocking instantly hundreds of wild uncontrollable thoughts flash through your mind. Do we need to evacuate? What happened? Was there electrical damage? Which tree is it? Are the cats ok? Did it destroy our new deck? Is the roof intact? What about the neighbor’s trees . . . 

In the pitch darkness little did we know that both 40-50 foot Pine trees in our yard had been completely uprooted by the violent storm from the Winter El Nino in Southern California.

We flipped on the light and made our way down the stairs. The cats were nowhere to be found. Glass covered the living room carpet and a cold wind was blowing through the broken window.

“Vacuum the glass, I’ll get the ladder and find something to patch the window.” I said to Lori.

“Ok, I’m scared - what if the other trees come down and crush the house?”

“Don’t know. Let’s go outside to see what’s happened.”

Talk about a charmed life. From our porch, in the darkness, we could see that our entire back yard was littered with trees. Our deck and dividing fence between homes were covered. The largest of the two had fallen between our house and the neighbors to the east.

“Wow! This stuff is really thick.” I stumbled my way through the branches in the pouring rain examining the deck support poles. Out of desperation I grabbed a saw and started cutting my way through the branches closest to the back door.

“Maybe I can relieve some of the stress on the house to prevent more damage.”

“The deck is OK!” I shouted with exasperation. Once I realized the deck was intact I ran back upstairs and cut away the branches pressed against the deck to relieve any pressure.

Next I struggled to make my way to the corner of the house cutting through the dense fallen limbs. The wind and rain pelting me all the while. A limb caught my hand and I dropped the saw. The thick branches enveloped it instantly. Groping in total darkness the saw was gone.

Lori had finished cleaning up the glass. “I’m going back to bed,” she yelled out to me. The storm now at it’s peak.

“Ok, now I need to find something to cover the window.”

After digging around in the garage I found a very large box, measured the window, and cut out a section that was wedged in to keep out the cold and rain.

“Well, that’s all we can do tonight. Might as well go back to bed.” By then it was 3:30 am.

Sleep, not a chance. When nature comes knocking with the ferocity of such a powerful storm you begin to realize the warmth and safety of your bed is uncertain at best.

With the wind still howling, and hail pounding our sliding glass door, we huddled in bed. 

“Have you seen the cats?” I whispered.

“No, they're probably hiding under the bed.”

“What do you think we will find in the morning?”

“Try to go back to sleep, we will see.”

To be continued . . . 

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Paris – the End of Silence

✈️  In this special episode: Paris – the End of Silence Sometimes, connection arrives in the most unexpected form—not through grand gestures, but through a quiet voice carried by technology. In a Paris apartment, I finally understood my family’s words . . . and felt my mother’s presence in every sentence. Since I was a little boy, France has been both a beautiful and frustrating paradox in my life. Every six to nine years, my mother, Mauricette, would take my brothers and me back to La Rochelle to visit our French family. The moment we arrived, the air would fill with a sound I loved but couldn’t share in—the rapid-fire, musical rhythm of French. My aunts, uncles, and cousins would warmly sweep me into hugs and kisses, their words flowing like a lovely melody I couldn’t quite catch. I’d smile brightly, trying to communicate with my eyes and hands. But as soon as we stepped off the plane, my mother and her sister-in-law, Joséan, started talking animatedly. They were gone, chatting h...

Pushing the Pause Button

In this episode, Pushing the Pause Button: Stepping Off the Treadmill Hello, friends — If you're reading this, I'm already off the grid. Today begins a much-needed vacation, and for the next few weeks, On the Fly is taking a break right along with me. For a long time, my inner voice has said, 'Keep every commitment, no matter what.' That's meant early mornings, long days, and a calendar packed with posts, podcasts, and projects I couldn't seem to say no to. I've been trying to be the tireless workhorse—but that kind of grind doesn't end well. Lately, I've noticed I'm not quite myself—shorter fuse, louder sighs, and a few too many grumbles (Lori deserves a medal). That's when you know it's time to hit pause before the spark burns out. So, I'm stepping back to rest, recharge, and remember what it feels like to not live by the next deadline: no tech, no to-do lists, just some space to breathe. Thank you, truly, for all your support and ...

Noirmoutier: An Ocean Between Us, Gone in a Moment

In this episode, Noirmoutier: An Ocean Between Us, Gone in a Moment. Sometimes love waits half a century for its moment — and when it finally arrives, time doesn’t stand still; it disappears. The moment I stepped off the train in Nantes, it felt like time froze. There she was — my cousin Michèle — waiting on the platform, arms waving desperately. When we finally embraced, the fifty years that had passed between us disappeared in an instant. The melody in her voice was the same, but softer than I remembered. We both shed tears of joy that only come from love long overdue. “I’m so happy you are here,” she whispered, her voice trembling.   Thank goodness for the translation app on my phone, because the conversation began immediately — fast, fluid, and unstoppable. The Frenzy of Catching Up As we drove for about an hour to the tiny town of L’Épine on the Island of Noirmoutier, the words kept tumbling out. Michèle and her husband, Alain, are the most gracious hosts — but my new challe...

Our Journey to Avignon

🇫🇷 Lost in Transition: Our Journey to Avignon (Part 1) When everything that can go wrong—does—sometimes grace still finds you. Our Monday morning trip began on the quiet island of Noirmoutier , where salt marshes and sea breezes whisper of simpler days. From there, our early morning drive was uneventful; we arrived at the Nantes station with plenty of time to spare. From Nantes to Paris Montparnasse, everything went smoothly—so we thought, until it didn't. That's when things started to unravel. If you've never traveled the Paris Metro , imagine a vast underground maze pulsing beneath the city—corridors twisting into one another, trains roaring in and out of the dark, staircases that rise and fall like riddles. It's efficient, yes—but only if you know where you're going. We had over an hour and a half to make our next train to Avignon —plenty of time. Or so we believed. We needed to reach the Gare de Lyon station, where our TGV (high-speed train) was headed south...