Little House in the Big City
Hi loved and well liked ones! Greetings from the front lines of climate change! Sorry for our silence: we’re without electricity or wifi or phone signals and until recently not encouraged to move around. But otherwise everything is fine here. The storm itself on Monday was not particularly remarkable from where we sat: not enough rain even to justify the long and depressing effort to remove much wearying self-documentation from the floor of the basement, but lots of gusty and erratic wind.
At around 6 P.M. the Hudson down the street had passed its banks and was washing over the sidewalks of the waterfront park. At the “surge” at 9 it had risen half a block up Bank Street, past the Westbeth courtyard, submerging cars on the highway, by 9 the next morning it was back down where it belonged. It’s those few hours of risen water that caused all the problems, but from here it seemed rather serene: Paul and Suzy will remember the tidal bore in Nova Scotia: were expecting a giant wave sweeping up the shore, got a cluster of busy little whirlpools.
It seems we’ll be without power or subways or school or internet or a phone signal or heat probably until the weekend at least. We can use the stove and the fridge is still semi-tepid; and we can venture up the unregulated streets to the electrified zone to communicate. Eric did buy a rotary-dial phone in an antique store in Williamsburg (got there on his bike) so we can get calls at home when we’re there but there’s no machine: 212 645 3346.
It is pleasantly quiet and spookily dark at night. If we lean out over the river we can sometimes get some cell phone coverage. Then we see partly-lit-up New Jersey on the other side of the river and the giant silent hulk of darkened Manhattan looming behind us. Last night, darting between the cars and fallen tree limbs in search of loot, we encountered a little rump Halloween parade, with a brass band and people wearing costumes and Christmas lights, dancing down Christopher Street before the police herded it onto the sidewalk. It was kind of wonderful to think that no one could tweet it or post a picture before it disappeared; it was happening just for itself.
Much love to all,
Ann, Eric, Sara, Hayley, Blossom, Oskar (who likes this temperature just fine)