Shelter from the storm
The sky was still an ominous gray tonight, hours after The Storm Formerly Known as Hurricane Sandy has already moved on to new victims.
It doesn’t look entirely safe, which is how I feel, too. Not entirely safe.
Yesterday afternoon, as Sandy just began to churn into the area, a huge pine tree tipped over and crashed into our roof. I’ve seen it happen to other houses, but never had the pleasure of the experience firsthand.
It’s scary. It’s also surreal. I looked up from where I was sitting. An enormous pine branch was sticking through the ceiling, pointing at my head.
What I’m learning is that emergencies are a shortcut to understanding character. Our own sudden homelessness has brought out the very best and the worst in people.
The fire department arrived after we called asking whether we should turn off our power. We don’t know much, but we know water and electricity don’t mix.
Ten minutes later, a fleet of West Hurley and Ulster County’s finest were on hand, making sure no one was hurt, informing us that we did, indeed, have to turn off the power. Our house was officially condemned, they said. “You have to leave,” one volunteer firefighter said. “It’s not safe. Water’s coming in, and the ceiling could come down.”
Another firefighter handed us a card. He owns a landscaping and tree-service business.
“We can fix this,” he said.
“I’ll be calling you,” I promised.
Tuesday morning, thanks to the kindness of a desk clerk who made room for us, we woke up in the Saugerties Comfort Inn. Larry, thank you. I have no idea where we would have gone had you turned us away.
The tree-service guy’s wife called at eight in the morning. We agreed they’d be at the scene at noon. They’d have come earlier, but we needed a little time to regroup before facing the disaster again.
When we got to our house we found part of one ceiling on the floor. A thin coat of water extended from two rooms into the hall. A hall carpet made that horrible, squishy noise that indicates it’s probably a goner.
A young fellow who we’ve come to love through a few repairs at this house called to see how we were. I described the tree. He said he could definitely remove it for us.
I called the tree service, which was running an hour late because, I’m certain, they had many, many other calls, explained that someone else was on hand and we were okay. I thanked them profusely.
“He’s nearby,” his wife said. “Okay if he stops by?”
“Sure,” I said. I could thank him in person.
The man who stepped out of his truck was angry, frazzled, tired and nasty.
“So you’re going to have some other jamoke do the job? We would have brought a winch and lifted it off. It would have done less damage. Thanks for wasting my time.”
He stomped off and I looked at our “jamoke,” who’d been standing right there. In a tense, miserable situation, it was a relief to know that we’d be surrounded by friends.
The contractor showed up and scared us by climbing into the damaged attic to survey the damage.
“You’ve got some structural damage,” he confirmed. “I’ll go home and work up an estimate.”
We are learning the ins and outs of insurance. Although we pay the insurance company, the truth is that the adjuster they send works for the insurance company. So we’ve hired a public adjuster, who works for us for a percentage fee. He will negotiate with the insurance company’s adjuster.
“I will absolutely get you the best settlement I can to help you repair this,” the public adjuster assured us.
So we’ve got a contractor, a tree company and an adjuster trying to help us recover from what Sandy accomplished in just a matter of minutes.
And then there are the people we know. The outpouring of generous offers of housing, of assistance, of chainsaws and even pet-sitting has been overwhelming. Our friends have made it very clear why we love them. People we don’t know that well have made it obvious that they’re made of very good stuff indeed.
Tuesday night at the hotel with power, cable and Internet gave us a chance to see what Sandy had accomplished in other places. We were lucky. Incredibly lucky. Even if ours is the only one in the neighborhood with a gaping hole in the roof, it could have been so much worse.
And Ulster County, which I once lauded in a letter to the editor when I was just a teenager as home to some of kindest, nicest and most generous people to anyone in a bind, is still a place I feel honored to call home.
Susan Barnett
