The Aftermath
It was too quiet. That's what finally woke me up around 8:30. It was still raining, and the wind was still blowing, but at a dramatically reduced intensity.
Loren and I surveyed the house, and its environs, with some trepidation. First the back yard, with the fig tree. And the driveway with the cars. At first glance, all was well, though the fig tree definitely lacked about half its foliage. It was only later that we realized that the fig tree had actually broken off at its base, and keeled over in a way that made it look, from our vantage point on the porch, like it had only lost its top. There were several branches in the driveway, but nothing too crazy.
In the front, the house survived the pecan tree dropping about half of its midsize or smaller branches. Somehow, none of these branches landed on the roof, though they were strewn all over the front lawn and driveway. One branch hung limply over the street itself, broken, but not fallen. It was an impressively depressing sight, yet we possessed a certain sense of glee that the house (and we) had survived. We could only hope that Galveston, and other southeast Houston communities had fared okay as well.
Finally, the leaves. Did I mention the leaves that were everywhere? There was a veritable layer of green covering the deck, the driveway, the roof, the street... The trees weren't quite stripped bare, but I'm betting that there'll be about half the amount of shade there once was when the sun returns to Houston.
After a quick phone call to our loved ones on the west coast to announce that we wouldn't, after all, be moving on to the next life at this time, we fell into a much deeper sleep until late morning.
Loren and I surveyed the house, and its environs, with some trepidation. First the back yard, with the fig tree. And the driveway with the cars. At first glance, all was well, though the fig tree definitely lacked about half its foliage. It was only later that we realized that the fig tree had actually broken off at its base, and keeled over in a way that made it look, from our vantage point on the porch, like it had only lost its top. There were several branches in the driveway, but nothing too crazy.
In the front, the house survived the pecan tree dropping about half of its midsize or smaller branches. Somehow, none of these branches landed on the roof, though they were strewn all over the front lawn and driveway. One branch hung limply over the street itself, broken, but not fallen. It was an impressively depressing sight, yet we possessed a certain sense of glee that the house (and we) had survived. We could only hope that Galveston, and other southeast Houston communities had fared okay as well.
Finally, the leaves. Did I mention the leaves that were everywhere? There was a veritable layer of green covering the deck, the driveway, the roof, the street... The trees weren't quite stripped bare, but I'm betting that there'll be about half the amount of shade there once was when the sun returns to Houston.
After a quick phone call to our loved ones on the west coast to announce that we wouldn't, after all, be moving on to the next life at this time, we fell into a much deeper sleep until late morning.
posted by Pascal Mickelson at
16:12
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