Irene from an Albany window

I was in Albany, N. Y. when the storm came up through my home and at first I scoffed at the hysterical predictions. I’ve gotten so used to weather forecasters calling things “the storm of the century” that it seems meaningless. Watching the storm through the window of an Albany rowhouse, listening to The Beatles on Rega25, the turntable god (that’s Rega25 front and center, I didn’t get the six foot speakers on either side) the storm seemed a fun adventure.

Then my son posted a picture of our road, transformed into a raging torrent, on Facebook.

My home town fire department  posted an update on their Facebook page, a section of town was being evacuated.

And suddenly Irene was personal.

My son is fine, most people I know are. Fairlee, the town where I am living now, was completely unscathed. But my home, my state has been brutalized. It is hard to believe some of the images I’ve seen on the news and online but only because my mind refuses to accept them. I’ve seen the same images in person in towns near here and I know it is real.

In the week since the flooding, I’ve seen a response from Vermonters that is like no other state that I’ve ever heard of. This is a state where people help each other out. And it’s a state where people know how to do things, practical things – a vet knows how to run a tractor, a nurse knows how to dig a post-hole, a lawyer knows how to level a new cattle gate and a computer geek knows how to swing a hammer. And that’s what we do when our neighbors need it.

I love this place.