Seeing the river was the final straw.
I had taken Seamus for his nightly walk along the Hudson, a few blocks away from our apartment. All day long weather forecasters had been predicting that the river would probably flood into Hoboken, a town that floods regularly when there’s a bad rainstorm. After seeing the water, there was no doubt in my mind that it would. It hadn’t even started raining and already the river was mere inches away from spilling over. Everything was just… off. In a park normally full of conversations and joggers, the atmosphere was very tense and quiet. The wind was strong and bitterly cold, out of nowhere. The last (and often the most reliable) tell: the animals were all really, really upset.
Sometime around 11:30pm I decided it was time to evacuate for Hurricane Sandy. After spending Sunday watching 24 hour weather reports, moving boxes out of the basement storage, and waiting to see what our mayor would advise (spoiler alert: nothing), I hit the open road with mixed emotions. I had wanted to wait until Monday morning to see how bad the storm would get, but when the governor announced immediate highway closures and Alan’s work called to say his office in Manhattan would be shut, we took it as a sign.
This is the type of travel I really hate. It feels more like moving (something else I hate doing) than traveling. Maybe because there’s the potential that it’s final, whereas if you forget something on a weeklong trip you know it’s at home somewhere. While it’s clearly a life-saving measure, nobody ever wants to evacuate their home. Last year, for Hurricane Irene, we were asked to evacuate “if possible,” so I had a little more time to prepare. I packed a suitcase full of my most important possessions. This year, the mayor refused to issue an order for anyone except those who lived in basement apartments, so we waited. (This caused a lot of problems in our town later, when thousands of people were trapped in their upper-floor apartments and had to be rescued by the National Guard in a front-loader.)
I am not a backpacker. I have never been able to carry everything I owned on my person and quite frankly, I consider that a good thing. I’ve spent years packing for trips, but in an emergency scenario I just cease to function. Looking around at everything in your home, what do you take in a situation like this? “Necessary” gets completely redefined. What’s more necessary: Something that cost a lot? Something you couldn’t live without? Something replaceable with sentimental value? Something you couldn’t replace? Something you just love?
In the end, I didn’t really have time to decide. Right before midnight, I grabbed enough clothes for a couple of days, my laptop and camera, some books, toiletries, flashlights, and a couple of non-essential little mementos just for good measure. Then I packed up Seamus, who has just as much luggage as a person. (Hey, he gets bored during blackouts, too.) After stuffing our bags and taping up the windows, the three of us sped off in the car and hoped for the best.
We listened to the radio as we passed some of the barricaded highways. The mayor announced a mandatory curfew for the next day, so we knew we wouldn’t be coming back for awhile. We drove to my mom’s house – about 40 miles away in Morris County. It was the easiest that drive has ever been, since everyone was either hunkered down in their homes or gone already. To drive 95 or 80 in New Jersey and not see another car is downright spooky.
Everything seemed fine out there the next day and I wondered if we had panicked. People were concerned but there was still food in the grocery stores and gas at the stations. There was no apocalyptic vibe. Of course, as of Monday evening everything changed dramatically.
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