By 2:00 o’clock yesterday afternoon, the storm had blown itself out.  We hadn’t lost power and our ‘usual’ leak in the kitchen ceiling hadn’t shown itself, so we considered ourselves lucky, indeed.  The radio had been reporting dire news all day – 90 mph gusts; the bridge closed because of an overturned truck; highway 101 closed because of downed trees; 19,000 people in Astoria without electricity.

We decided to take a little drive around town to see how Oysterville had fared.  There were several fences down but thanks to Nyel’s summer of Fence Projects, ours was not among them.  The top third of the cottonwood tree behind Grays’ house had snapped off but fortunately missed any of the near buildings, and an alder tree at Carol’s had fallen across the road, temporary blocking the south entrance to the village.  There were ‘lakes’ everywhere and lots of blow-down and debris around but, as far as we could see, no damage to any buildings.

We saw Peter Janke, also driving around with his camera, and Cyndy, and Bradley, and Susan with visitors from New York, all doing a walk-about.  There was no sign of Mike Nichols and his crew at Carol and Tucker’s, although we knew they had been working there earlier in the day during the worst of it.  “Just finishing up a few things,” Mike had told Carol.

I was reminded of my first impressions of living here full-time.  I quickly learned that the weather, no matter how nasty, seldom stopped forward progress – at least not the rainy/windy sort of weather. (Ice and snow are in another category, entirely.)  Workmen don slickers and boots and forge ahead.  School stays in session and businesses stay open except during extended power outages.

I was also reminded of Eddie Freshley.  In the eighties and nineties, during his retirement years, he was always out first thing in the morning after a storm, driving around the village at five miles an hour, checking things out.  It was comforting, somehow, to know that Eddie would be ‘on patrol’ after every big blow.  I had a momentary pang of nostalgia for those days when I was still ‘the next generation’ and the old-timers were here to keep us safe.  Hard to realize that it’s our turn now.