My father-in-law, Marsh I called him, was 12-yrs.-old and was out doing his paper route. He was coming down the hill from The Nobska Lighthouse when he saw beach houses (they weren’t on stilts like they are now) floating over the street from the beach to the pond.
“He decided it was time to go home!” my husband said. Good decision! I’d never heard that part of Marsh’s story. I’m glad I listened.
All but 2 of my nine children have had a paper route. Some started as young as 5-yrs.-old. I took time for me to get used to them making the mile-long circuitous route back home. I’d always go with the younger ones. They had no cellphone, so I was always on edge waiting for them to come home.
Irene is beginning to show her face here in Hudson, New Hampshire this morning. The 4am. paper delivery guy drove by and threw the paper out the car window onto the neighbor’s driveway. The power may go out. Church was cancelled last night. We’re staying put.
The kids have talked to their friends on the Cape. Towns are shutting down for the day they announced yesterday.
The last I heard there were 6 deaths blamed on Irene. Compare that to the 600 deaths for the 1938 hurricane.
I find it interesting that some things change, and some things never change. When the storms of life threaten, whether or not we’ve been warned, we all think about what matters most and think about keeping our loved ones safe and comfortable.
For me that’s what family history is all about; gathering in those I am related to and responsible for, making sure they are “home” with me, and that they know they are loved and needed.
Marsh died 4 years ago. I wonder what he’s thinking. He’s probably saying to all of his buddies,” Bunch of wusses! ’38! Now THAT was a hurricane!”
So, my message for today, Sunday, August 28, 2011, three weeks shy of the 1938 hurricane’s 74th anniversary is,