Puzzling The Storms
When Hurricane Carol hit the Northeast coastline in 1954, I was five years old. My sister was 13. Our house was a sturdy one, built for sea captains and their wives and families in an historical courtyard of similar wooden three-story structures, erected on serious foundations to withstand just such storms and harsh winters. I would be starting school this year, but in those days, school did not begin until after Labor Day, and we were still in summer mode. There were sprinkles of sand in most of my shoes, fresh from long walks by the shore. No one in our courtyard had a garage, and so each family parked their car in front of their home in this horseshoe courtyard, shaded by massive oak and maple trees that had stood solidly for years. They had seemed to me to be...
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