How's the Weather?

Photo by Mark Reinholt

LUCY BURDETTE: A very fast storm clipped Key West last week. We were out to dinner, on a porch overlooking a dock, when the sky grew intensely dark, and then a waterspout took shape. We barely had time to grab our plates and run inside. (The photo was taken by a friend, an incredible photographer—isn’t it ominous?)

Anyway, this got me thinking about severe weather in general, and how I tried to use it to up the ante for the characters in my upcoming KILLER TAKEOUT. When I meet a long-time resident of the island, one of my first questions is: What do you do about hurricanes? Stay or go? Leaving is no picnic, because there’s only one road off the islands and the congestion can be overwhelming. Besides, how do you know where the storm’s headed next? The hard-bitten native conchs just hunker down and hope for the best. But there are lots of horror stories about staying too—Hurricane Wilma for example, didn’t do a great deal of damage, but the storm surge after was very destructive.

I haven’t lived through a hurricane in Key West and I hope to skip that experience. We have lived through Hurricanes Irene and Sandy while in Connecticut, and that was no picnic. Let’s face it, I’m a weather wienie!

Reds, what’s the worst weather you’ve experienced? Do you enjoy the pageantry of nature or would you rather skip it? How have you used weather in your writing?

HALLIE EPHRON: A waterspout? Yikes. That same night in Boston we had high winds, rain and lightning that went on booming and crashing for hours. I unplugged the computer, stuffed my ears with Kleenex and tried to sleep, because what can you do except survey the damage in the morning? Fortunately all we lost was a tree limb and it didn’t fall on the car.

Outside Hallie's House

Worst weather I’ve been through ever is last winter’s snow. In January/February 2015 we got 110 inches without a thaw. I didn’t leave the house for weeks unless I absolutely had to. Roads were narrowed to one lane and you took your live in your hands just pulling out of the driveway. The car horn got used more than the brakes. It was May before the snow was all melted in the yard, and the silver lining was an absolutely spectacular spring. EVERY spring-blooming thing burst into bloom at the same time.

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: My family and I were caught on a bus in Park Slope, Brooklyn, in a tornado! Toto, we're in Brooklyn, Not Kansas! Someone recorded it and put it on YouTube—here's the link:  It was surreal — green, murky, insane winds. We saw a hundred-year-old tree ripped right out of the ground from the bus window.

Overwash by Don McCullough

We also weathered Hurricane Sandy in Brooklyn. That was less scary, personally, because we live at a high elevation (so no flooding) and also in a sturdy Victorian brick building. Still we taped up our windows, just like the Brits did during the Blitz, and I prayed for everyone affected—and also that our oversized windows would hold. Which they did. Afterwards, gave blood, took blankets and canned food to a relief center a few blocks from us (the local YMCA). It was a crazy storm and people in the hardest-hit areas are still in recovery.

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN:  Massachusetts! Where there's never a dull weather moment. I've covered hurricanes on Cape Cod, certainly, where the winds are more than 90 mph, and the sand hits your face like a million straight pins. And ice storms, where the trees, and everything, are completely coated. Beautiful, and deadly.  And yes, last year the snow was so high it was over the cars--seriously, there were cars parked on the streets and you couldn't see them.  But a few days ago, I woke up to HOWLING winds. And I thought, wow, we're going to have some fallen branches. Woke up the next morning to see Jonathan standing over me. He said, "Sweetheart, we have a situation." Our back fence had blown down! Like--WHAM. Flattened.


RHYS BOWEN: We lived in south Texas for three years where weather was always dramatic. Summer thunderstorms spawning tornadoes, hurricanes, lightning that lit up the whole sky and brought all four kids scurrying into our bed at night. I once flew into Chicago after a blizzard and the snow was taller than me beside the road. Didn't like that much, either. I'm currently in Arizona where we've had perfect temps and sunshine for weeks. My kind of weather! But I have to agree, Lucy, bad weather can enhance the drama and suspense in a novel.

Photo by Paul VanDerWerf

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: Hank, I love "We have a situation." Such a calm way to introduce major property damage! I'm pretty well known for the bad weather in my books - I maintain there's nothing like nature's fury to elevate the suspense and the stakes. After all, didn't Dame Agatha trap everyone on the island with bad weather in Ten Little Indians?
Spending my teen years in upstate New York's snowbelt and my adult life here in Maine, all my bad weather is snow, ice and cold. There was the Christmas eve when we left midnight mass to discover two feet of snow had fallen and my dad had to wait for a plow to follow to get us all home. There was the time Ross and the kids and I left Hudson Falls, NY with a light scattering of flakes that turned into a blizzard as we we drove through the Green Mountains. Snowpocalype '14 - '15 was unrelievedly awful; we had something like 100 inches of snow and the coldest February since 1895. But for me, personally, the WORST weather was the ice storm of '98. Power lines down everywhere, roads impassible, walking on glare ice outside and we were without power on my street for NINE days. Nine days with no running water, no phone service (we didn't have a cell phone until '02) no electric lights, no heat except the fireplaces and woodstoves, and two kids, four and five, underfoot. The silver lining? I used an ice storm just like it is as the background for my last book, THROUGH THE EVIL DAYS.



DEBORAH CROMBIE: On the day after Christmas this year, we had nine tornadoes sighted in the DFW area. NINE! The strongest struck the town of Garland, just a few miles to the east of us, and was rated an EF4--the first EF4 since a tornado struck Lancaster, south of Dallas, in 1994. This was the first EF4 tornado reported in the United States since 2000. There were eleven fatalities and the damage was staggering. Here's a photo of just one of the tornadoes.

We live in tornado country--we know this can happen. We have go-bags and a safe spot and a plan, but, really, you're never prepared. This time, we thought the storms were coming straight for us, but at the last minute they shifted direction. I spent an anxious hour huddled in our hall bathroom with flashlight, phone, radio, and the two German shepherds. Then we spent the rest of the evening watching the terrible damage reports on the news as they came in.

I much prefer my weather in books. I think my favorite use of it was the snowstorm that traps my characters in Crystal Palace in south London in The Sound of Broken Glass.

But I think my personal "scariest weather ever" moment was about twenty years ago, when I drove halfway across England in a hurricane. I hope never, ever, to do anything like that again. 



LUCY: Yes, Julia, you are a master at using the weather to best advantage, starting with the first line of your first book! It was one hell of a night to throw away a baby.

Reds, tell about the worst weather you survived--or a book you remember using bad weather to great effect...

Helping with the cleanup, one trash bag at a time...

HALLIE EPHRON: Like many of you, I see the pictures of neighborhoods devastated by Hurricane Sandy and wish I could help. My daughter Molly was out this weekend in Sheepshead Bay, a neighborhood on Brooklyn's waterfront, helping with the cleanup. She tells what it's like.

MOLLY TOUGER: 
During the hurricane...
I camped out out on a spare mattress in my sister and brother in law’s apartment, mostly for the company. Neither of us live in evacuation zones. We listened to the wind, watched the news, argued about whether the constant coverage was frying our brains, whether it was alarmist and whether we should watch NetFlix instead.  

ConEd called and said our electric might get cut. Then downtown Manhattan went dark. But our lights in Sunset Park stayed on and I baked cookies and we watched a documentary about sushi-making. In the morning, on the news things looked bad, but our Brooklyn neighborhood did not. A few trees down. I went home, fed my cats and took a nap.

Wednesday we waited
... for news of the return of the subway system, whether school would open, whether we needed to go to work.  We saw the pictures of the Rockaways, of Staten Island, of New Jersey, Red Hook. Places that were nearby. But they weren’t exactly “here.”

In my neighborhood stores were open with fully stocked shelves. Restaurants packed.  Except for the fact that the traffic was unusually thick, it was almost like a snow day. We met up for dinner and drinks and believed the appropriate agencies would fix the broken things because this is New York and this is what happens here.

Then the mayor announced that school would be cancelled for two more days—a full week. And the lights stayed off downtown. And the news from the disaster areas got worse and the marathon got cancelled and cops started having to patrol gas stations so anxious drivers didn’t beat the crap out of each other.

And when the lights finally went on, it didn’t mean that everything was back to normal. Not even close.

Slow reckoning
I didn’t understand how bad it was at first. I don’t know what it’s like for anyone outside of New York but for those of us who live in New York City who weren’t directly affected by the storm surge, it’s been a slow reckoning, part naiveté, part willful ignorance, in part a function of just the way this city works. To live in a New York neighborhood is to be a citizen of a very small geographic area, to which you have loyalty, and where all of your goods and services are provided. 

Because in my neighborhood we continued to have, I didn’t immediately understand how different the situation is for people just a few miles from my apartment.

Saturday
... I went with a group of friends to volunteer in Sheepshead Bay/Coney Island. It’s not just bad. It’s beyond bad.
Driving south from my apartment for a while there is still “the normal.” Grocery stores open.  People walking dogs. Hassids walking to Sabbath services. It’s like that for about a 15-minute drive from my apartment. 

And then it gets just the slightest bit quieter. And then you start to see the garbage piled up in front of the apartment buildings and houses. Couches. Mattresses. Debris. And it’s like that in front of every single building, everywhere you look.

And then the traffic lights aren’t working.  And then you start to notice that the cars lining the curb are all filled with mist, some of them kissing bumper to bumper, a pile of waterlogged sludge nestled in between.

And the businesses that at first appeared to be open actually have people in them because they’re clearing out their entire livelihoods, taking out soggy files and cash registers. And there are no lights, just flashlight beams flickering out from internal spaces.

That’s when I began to understand
... what “storm surge” means. It means “where the water came in.” If you weren’t near the water, Sandy was loud and windy but not particularly terrifying.  And if you were in the way of the water, God help you. 

Volunteer opportunity posted on FacebookMy friend Katina forwarded it (http://www.facebook.com/CleaningSheepshead?ref=stream). Just something that went around, no real organization identifiable. A young guy who identified himself as a resident of the neighborhood had been going around to local businesses, seeing who needed help. A real angel. He handed out assignments.

We had followed the instructions and brought rakes, gloves, face masks and garbage bags. I had spent a good 20 minutes that morning staring at the garbage bag options at C-town trying to decide which strength to buy.  Being somewhat indecisive, I bought a mélange, some Hefty, some generic.

At the sandwich shop: Throw everything out

We got sent to a sandwich shop called Jimmy’s Famous Heroes (photo by Janine Feczko) where the proprietor’s instruction was just “throw everything out.” The chips we asked? Yes. The shelves? He pointed to the wet walls and floors. Sewage. Everything had to go. 

The owner told us: “The shop would have been 75 this year.” “It will be!” offered a volunteer. Nobody contradicted this.

We cleaned out the deli case, whole hams, huge cylinders of provolone, pickles, soggy bread. The file cabinets had water in them. The owner asked if he should keep a waterlogged book on Joe DiMaggio. “Is it signed?” someone asked. It wasn’t. Throw it out.

A couple, friends of the owner came by to see how he was doing. “Ok,” he said.” You?” They said they’d lost everything. The woman said: “My brother literally only has the clothes he’s wearing. But we have each other.”

It turns out people really say these things when horrible things happen. Because that’s what there is to say.

The trash bags turned out to be useful. Heavy contractor bags are good for things like files and hams. Crappy generic trash bags are good for cleaning out shelves full of potato chips.

On to an apartment building
After we were done at Jimmy’s we went over to another place identified by the organizer, the Warbasse apartments in south Brooklyn, several 23-story buildings all part of a City middle-income “Mithchell-lama” complex. On the first floor, in one lucky building with power, volunteers sorted random relief foods (canned pork, popcorn) for residents. FEMA was there too but it was unclear who was coordinating what. 

As a group of four we took an assignment sheet with a building number and a list of apartments and needs for each: foods (some kosher), blankets, water. We collected the needed supplies from the supply tables then headed out, and immediately realized we had no idea which building we were going to with our 50 pounds of relief materials. We met a kind French biker named Andre who biked around until he found the building for us, then let us strap a crate of Poland Springs to his bike rack to ferry it over.

We went in through the loading dock. A kid in a sweatshirt—a super?—told us water would hopefully be coming back on that day, but no electric. There had been no electric since Sandy.

Then he showed us how we had to bring up the food—the windowless stairwells of a 23-story building.

Up up up, in the dark
We looked at each other. We hadn’t thought to bring flashlights. But it’s the modern age. Cell phones have lights. And Andre’s bike helmet had a little head lamp. So that could work.

We entered the stairwell and climbed in the dark, tripping at first, stumbling with vertigo, then getting the hang of how to share the lights efficiently and quickly grab the banisters. We knocked on the first door of our assignment list, and were greeted by an older, very overweight couple who mostly spoke Russian. They were clearly happy to see us. We gave them their food bag and some water.

Then the man asked “Orange juice?” “There’s apple juice” my friend Elana said. “Diabetics,” the man explained. Crap, we thought. We quickly dug through the other bags and found whatever we could with additional fruit sugar and made a note on the assignment sheet that they needed to be checked on again and brought OJ.

In the other apartments, it was a mix of needs. Everyone in need was elderly, some more elderly than others. They were riding it out not out of stubbornness but because they literally couldn’t get down the stairs.

There was the woman in her 70s who told us she had her 96-year-old mom in the back. There was a younger woman with her older, seemingly senile mother, a cat and a bird. No one had been out since Sandy hit. One woman asked if she could use the water to flush her toilet.

In some hallways, it was clear from the smell that in some apartments, toilets had not been flushed. The residents put in additional orders for food and water, and when we told them we didn’t know when electric was coming back on, they started to ask if someone might help them get out.  But it was clear they didn’t really want to go. And where they would go, none of us knew.

We dutifully took note of their requests to give to the volunteers/FEMA.

Coney Island, worrying about the baby walrus
When we were done, Elana and I drove to Coney Island. “I just want to see it,” she said. 

We parked and walked by the aquarium and wondered about the animals with their delicate swimming tanks, about little Mitik the baby walrus who had just arrived. The boardwalk was covered with sand, the beach with random detritus.  Futon frames. Sheets.  Someone seemed to have made some art out of the debris, a dog house with a rug placed perfectly in front of it and a set of shelves.

The Wonder Wheel sat silent, it’s underground controls soaked in sea salt, same for the other rides. The wind roaring through the giant steel structures sounded to me like an adult walrus crying. I was happy to figure out it was just wind on metal. But still. Eerie. But it was also beautiful. The late fall light saturated everything with color, the rides extra bright, the water dark blue green. A million fat seagulls standing around like nothing had happened.

And then we walked by a fried food stand and suddenly realized, it was open. The people behind the counter were actually serving food. Corn dogs, fried shrimp. A full display case of golden fried deliciousness.

I talked to the owner. They hadn’t had any damage, he said because they were high up, higher than the workings of the Wonder Wheel. They were OK. Full electric and water. That’s great! I said. I bought onion rings and lemonade even though I wasn’t hungry. And I was grateful.

Did I want anything else? the owner asked. The truth was I wanted to buy everything.  “No,” I said. “I’m ok for now.”

We kept walking down the beach to where a crowd was gathered. Dozens of people with shovels clearing off the boardwalk. The organizer was standing on a table telling people that it was time to pack up for now. 

“But we don’t want to,” one older gentleman protested. The organizer gently told him that they would meet again tomorrow at 9 a.m. There would be plenty of work to do.

HALLIE: I hadn't realized how bad it is until until I read this. Here are some links to organizations that will help you help, too. Anyone who has any additional suggestions, please post them in comments.

https://www.facebook.com/SandyVolunteer
https://www.facebook.com/CleaningSheepshead?fref=ts
https://www.robinhood.org/news/robin-hood-reactivates-relief-fund-and-will-disburse-3-million-tuesday
http://interoccupy.net/occupysandy/les/
And a list of relief efforts posted on NY1.com:

http://www.ny1.com/content/top_stories/171662/ways-to-help-sandy-relief-efforts-in-nyc

Easy Soup for Trying Times

Julia Spencer-Fleming:  Well, it's been quite a week here at Jungle Reds - hurricane, power outages, travel interruptions. Up here in Maine, we got electricity back mid-day Wednesday. Hurrah! Then on Thursday, my husband Ross discovered steaming hot water literaly bubbling out of our hot water heater (thank heavens our 200-year-old house has beaten dirt floor in the cellar.) To stop the machine from parboiling itself, he had to turn off the oil burner, which also, alas, turns off the furnace.

I'm not sure if it was the earthquake or the superstorm that caused the damage, but I do know five days without heat and hot water is a bit too much. We have decamped to a seaside hotel to lick our wounds and take showers. 

In times of trial, we want comforting things, and so today I'm sharing my recipe for peanut butternut squash soup. It's the easiest thing ever to make, delicious and nutritious, and keeps well atop a wood stove when the power's out. When we get home, if my oven doesn't explode, I'm going to make a batch.

One good-sized butternut squash
One onion, diced
Two cans chicken broth (you can substitute vegetable broth if you or your guests are vegetarian.)
1/4 to 1/3 cup natural peanut butter (don't use the pre-blended Jiffy or Peter Pan type)
One can Coconut milk
1/2 tsp cumin
cayenne pepper or hot sauce to taste
two bay leaves.

Peel and chop the butternut squash into cubes. Sautee the squash with the onion until the onion wilts. (You can use butter or oil for the sauteeing. I like to use soy oil - it gives it a bit of a taste.)

Pour in the broth to cover. Boil until the squash is very soft. Take off heat and process it in batches in the food processor until everything is smooth and creamy. (You can also use a masher in the pot if you like a more textured soup.)

 
Stir in the natural peanut butter. You can add more or less as you like - it should taste of peanuts but not not so strongly that you feel like you ought to add grape jelly to the thing. Drop in the bay leaves and let simmer for up to an hour to develop the flavor. I'm not much one for salt, but if you are, go ahead and use your shaker. If the mixture starts to get too think and paste-like, throw some more broth into it.

Remove from heat and stir in the coconut milk and cumin. Add enough cayenne pepper or hot sauce to give it a bite. Serve and share with family or friends. Don't forget to be thankful for having heat and hot water.    
 

Frankenstorm!!11!

UPDATE:  Here's Hank Phillippi Ryan's 2:30pm update from the Massachusetts Emergency Management Authority: WDHD TV-7
 


 
JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: As I write this, Hurricane Sandy is already bringing tropical storm conditions to coastal North Carolina and southeastern Virginia. Hurricane-force winds are expected to affect the coast from Chintogue, VA to Chatam, MA, with tropical-force gales and rain spreading out across most of the Northeast. Delaware's emptying out, New Jersey's on high alert and the New York subway system is shutting down. And up here in Maine, we're pulling in the boats and getting out the sou'westers.Living on the highest point in our area, I'm not expecting any flooding, but we're prepared for the almost-inevitable power outages: loads of candles and hurricane lamps, fresh batteries in the flashlights, water in jugs and in the tub. (For those of you who have city systems instead of wells, the loss of electricity means the loss of water. Oh, that lonely last flush as the pipes empty out...)

Ross and the kids have spent the weekend raking and bagging leaves, we're stocked up with food - well, honestly, we're always stocked up with food - and even our Smithie called to let us know she was prepared and ready to share her Maine-bred knowledge of storm survival when the power goes out in Northampton.
Over the years, our family has perfected its storm-prep techniques. We've come a long way since the Great Ice Storm of '98. We went for nine long days with no power, then; cooking on the woodstove, taking shivery sponge baths, gravity flushing the toilets. The two children bundled up and slept in one bed to keep warm, and Ross and I alternated rising every three hours at night to keep the fireplaces and stove stoked with wood. After that adventure, no storm can strike fear into my heart again.

How about you, Reds? What are you those of you on the East Coast doing to prep for the Frankenstorm? And what's the worst weather emergency you've lived through?
RHYS BOWEN: I'm currently in Hawaii, about as far from Sandy as possible but I'm sending protective vibes for my Jungle Red sisters on the East Coast. The worst weather event we ever experienced was a flood in Texas. We had 15 inches of rain in 12 hours. The river came out of its banks and joined the rainfall. We watched the water rise, went from house to house helping neighbors put valuables up as high as possible. We were lucky--the water came within half an inch of our slab. All our neighbors flooded and our lights were the only ones in a sea of black water. We sloshed through snake-infested water bringing food to neighbors for several days. Weather events are scary!HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: It's Saturday night ,and so peaceful here. Hard to imagine we're about to get battered. I feel as if I should go BUY something. Batteries.

Weather emergency? I'm a reporter..I've been in floods, hurricanes, ice storms, blizzards (so cold I curled up on the front seat of the news van, certain I'd never be warms again), nor'easters..I guess the worst was Hurricane, ah, I forget. I was sent to cover the storm on the Cape, the winds were more than 90 MPH, it was hard to stand up straight to do my stories. The sand, whipped by the wind, stung my face so hard it made me  cry.   There was nothing, nowhere, and my crew and I stayed at a home on the Cape that was a summer home..it had power, but no food. We ate hot dog buns we found in the freezer, defrostd and topped with canned tomato sauce and frozen romano.

ROSEMARY HARRIS: We lose power a couple of times a year due to storms. My hubby is from the "it's never as bad as they say it's going to be" school and I'm from the "let's batten down the hatches" so between the two of us we prepare a bit and then forget about it. Batteries, flashlights, candles. We never did get around to buying that generator we talked about and we never fill the bathtub One time we kept running down to the pool and bringing back buckets of pool water. (Good reminder Julia since it's October and the pool is closed!)

During last year's Halloween storm a tree limb came crashing through a skylight in the kitchen. Hope that doesn't happen again. But it was romantic making a fire and reading by candlelight - having an excuse to eat ALL of the ice cream. I've been so many places without power that it doesn't bother me too much. The only thing that does bother me is the possibility of breaking glass. My house is more glass than wood so we tend to stay away from the windows and skylights during one of these crazy storms! Stay safe everyone.DEBORAH CROMBIE: We live in tornado country, and my hubby has been involved with amateur radio for years, so we're always fairly prepared. Although, like Ro, we've never bought that generator we keep talking about... Thankfully, our house has never been hit by a tornado, but we are also prone to ice storms here that can be brutal. Trees and power lines can go down from the weight of the ice, and utility and city crews are not well equipped to deal with the damage. Winter before last we had a storm that kept us iced in for about five days. Fortunately, we had power for most of the time, lots of firewood, and we have a gas stove and oven, so could still cook.

Hoping all of you on the East Coast stay safe in the next few days.  And fill up those bathtubs!

HALLIE EPHRON: I always fill up the bathtubs but I never understand why I'm doing it. Can someone 'splain?

We're supposed to get lots of rain and wind over several days, but we're not supposed to get nearly the impact that Ro and Roberta will have in Connecticut. So Ladies, stay dry and take care!

I'm very bad at preparing. I have candles... somewhere. And batteries. But where is my transistor radio (remember those?) - I have no idea. We did a grocery store run and got some canned food that I hope I never have to eat. Bought a new flashlight that I hope some of my batteries fit. Checked that our downspouts are working and connected. And we'll try to park the cars out on the street to avoid dropping limbs. Hoping for the best...

JULIA: Hallie, I don't know about everyone else, but we use the water in the tub for washing dishes and for gravity flushing. I'd have to be a much, much more thorough housekeeper to have a tub clean enough to drink from.

Or you could fill the bathtub like this...

 JAN BROGAN: No drinking from my tubs, either Julia.  Hallie, you only need to fill your tub if you are on well water. I'm pretty sure you aren't.  I've got my two filling up as we speak.

I also topped off the car, got two new flashlights and batteries, found the candles and secured a promise we can go live with family with foresight to have bought the generators. My husband is determined to drive down and see how crazy the ocean is - even though the chief of police robo call tells us all to stay in our homes.  

JULIA: We'd love to hear your worst storm story, your survival tips, and how things are in your town. We're hoping that all our East Coast Reds reader stay safe and dry!