I drove back to South Haven this weekend to assess the damage from last week's freaky storm. Apparently the combination of extremely low pressure, rain and high winds created the equivalent of a Category 3 hurricane -- weather rarely (if ever) seen here in the Midwest -- and I imagined the worst as I watched The Weather Channel reports of the storm screaming across Lake Michigan. But outside of a couple loose shingles and finding somebody else's screen door in the driveway, the little cottage stood its ground as it has no doubt done for the past 98 years. There are signs that the waves, which must have been monstrous, came almost 100 yards up the beach; some of the snow fences have been leveled by the sheer volume of sand blown against them, and there's flotsam everywhere. It must have been a doozy, but you'd never know it now -- the past few days have been the calmest and quietest that I can remember.
I drank my coffee on the deck this morning, in my jammies, slippers and a fleece-lined jacket. Thirty-six degrees, perfectly clear skies, and not a even a wisp of wind -- no cars, no people, no noise at all. It's the total opposite of my neighborhood in Chicago with the El roaring by, school buses, kids, sirens and car alarms -- I sometimes wonder why I live there.
Maybe it's just so I appreciate here more?
