Irene scores a near miss

So this morning I’m just standing here, minding my business, playing my slow jams, recovering from a wild night of watching videos about sentient meat, when I hear popping noises outside my window.

They weren’t terribly loud. I didn’t think much of it. Just a few branches shaken loose by Irene’s modest gusts, I figured.

I started getting concerned when I noticed that the power lines running into my house were making Sin waves.

My first thought, honest to Buddha, was “oh shit, the power is going to go out and I’m going to lose my slow jams.”

I didn’t stop to consider what might have been making the power lines dance, because there was no time for that. The tree was already mid-tumble. Coming into view beyond the power lines was the giant green mess free-falling in the direction of my hopeless sedan.

The sedan at this point is parked under a rusty old carport that has the appearance of having barely survived the 70’s. As the tree makes impact, the back half of the carport’s old metal roof is peeled like an upsidedown sardine can. Unlike the lightning bolt event from a couple of days ago, this was not a spiritual experience. I didn’t feel stunned or frightened; just confused. And a little amused.

Full stop: It’s important to understand that I am in no way classifiable as a morning person. If a life-threating event requiring a quick response occurs before, say, 11:30 AM, then… well… I’m probably a goner. Likewise, when a giant tree topples over a stone’s throw from where I’m standing, narrowly missing the power lines, the house, and, it follows, Me!, my morning persona did not know what else to do but to remain standing there in my undies and to softly chuckle about the shit that just went down.

It wasn’t until the neighbor came over and rang the doorbell that I put on a shirt and went outside. From my vantage inside the house, I couldn’t tell whether my little Civic had been totaled or not. There was a gnarled carport roof and lots of greenery obscuring my view. The neighbor and I navigated the maze of braches and eventually arrived at the spot where my car had been parked. Amazingly, except for a couple of white blemishes on the back of the trunk, all was perfectly fine. The Civic had survived and was no worse for the wear. The rustic carport saved the day.

As I write this at 3:28 PM, roughly 6 hours after the event, I still haven’t taken a shower and I’m starting to smell like it. I am grateful for the small army of chainsaw-wielding men that have made quick business of the fallen wood. I am grateful for my neighbors who all came out to check on my mental health status, and, least of all, I am grateful for my slow jams. And I am sad for the loss of an interesting tree.

In hindsight, I probably should’ve known this was coming. A couple of years ago, about 12 feet off the ground, this tree sprouted three cantaloupe-sized fungus-looking things. This probably was not the markings of the healthiest of trees, which was even more evident this morning when we saw the sad state of the tree’s internal affairs. These cantaloupe thingies were always the first thing I noticed when I pulled into the driveway. At first they were a brilliant orange, but like everything else, eventually became a rotten brown. The squirrels used to sit on these fungus balls to enjoy their afternoon snack. I always thought that’d be a comfortable place to sit, if I were a squirrel.

I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, except that it seems like a nice metaphor for something. I haven’t figure out what yet.