The Island Saves our Lives?

It's been a while.  We've taken on other projects, including a house on the shore.  That, coupled with the fact that Steve fell through the old dock, so there's presently no place to dock, (another story in itself), the fact is, that while we  take boat jaunts over to the island, we don't spend as much time on it as we did. Still, when I go there, I try to keep the destructive vines from overtaking the shoreline shrubs, and Steve tries to generally keep on top of the lawn mowing, and frets about shoreline erosion and ways to combat it.

Two Sundays ago, it was wickedly hot and humid.  Believe it or not, even though we now own a considerable amount of  waterfront property, I'm not much for the water.  Nevertheless, that day I said "let's go over to the island, and I'll splash around and cool off".

There's this great new technology now available, where weather alerts come over your cellphone.  So, while we're in the water, a ding goes off that warned of severe thunderstorms, lightening and hail in our area.  We looked up, and there wasn't another boat out on the lake.  Apparently everyone else got the same ding, and hightailed it for shore.  The rain and lightning were starting.

We weighed the options of crossing the lightning-filled lake in our aluminum pontoon boat, or waiting it out on the island.  I got the brilliant idea that we could sit in the plastic shed, on plastic chairs, and watch the whole thing from the safety of our shelter.  It would be fun.  Steve went along.

So there we are, sitting amidst the lawn and garden equipment, with the shed doors ajar, watching the storm outside, when we hear "ding! ding!" and scrolling across our phone is "Tornado in your area.   Take cover now!"

TORNADO?  TAKE COVER???  WHERE???  

Steve tells me to get on the floor, and I comply, although I'm dumbly wondering why.  Then he starts piling stuff on top of me.  He's behind me, so I ask him what he's doing.  He said he was putting things on top of us to break the blow if anything came down.  So here I am, a 67-year old grandmother, laying on the floor of a tool shed, with a plastic chair on my head and a blowup float on my legs.  Even under the circumstances, I knew it looked ridiculously funny.  I wondered what Steve looked like behind me.

Being in front, I got a view of the storm, which came in waves directly across the water at our shed. By this time I'm thinking we should let someone know where we are, in case we need them to come get us later, and the only relatively calm person I can think of calling is our oldest son.  So I call and try to sound nonchalant,

"Hi, Seth, we're over on the island.  We're fine, but there's a big storm out here and we're waiting it out.  Just want to let you know.  I'll keep you posted."    

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to us, Kinderhook Lake is all over the news because of the tornado.  So my sister texts me.  I lie. Say we're fine.  Really can't have a text conversation right now with an hysterical woman.  I figure, Seth knows where the bodies will be found.  No need to raise the alarm.

Hail, lightening and thunder are pummeling the island and our shed, and we hear trees falling around us. Steve can see nothing, and comments that it's going on for a long time.  I check my phone.  It's been 5 minutes.  We have 40 more to go.
 
 All at once there's a loud BOOM and a tree falls right in front of our shed, closing the doors except for a little sliver that I was able to peek through.  And we continue to wait.

Oddly, while time went by very slowly, I was strangely calm.  I'm certainly no gambler, but I kept reminding myself that being killed by a tornado in NY is a very unlikely occurrence, and the odds were with us that it wouldn't happen.  Steve thought we might not be able to get out of the shed.  But I even had full confidence that we would.  Plus Seth could always come get us.  I figured as long as we weren't hurt, the worst that could happen was I'd have to pee before we got out.  I also figured that if I died, it wouldn't matter if I had to pee.  So the clocked ticked.  Very slowly.

Finally, it started to let up. We managed to push and squeeze our way out of the shed, and Steve (or MacGyver, as I've been known to call him), found an old machete.  A tree had fallen across the boat, but he hacked enough away that we were able to back the boat out.  Still, our trusty pontoon now bears the permanent scars of that encounter, in an aluminum rail cruelly bent, and a light that looks like somebody's eyeball had popped out.  A small price to pay.

Epilogue:  As Steve was hacking away at the boat-tree, I started taking pictures of the destruction.  Amazingly, the storm hit only one half of the island, the one we were on.  The other side had absolutely no damage -- not even fallen branches.  Our side lost 4or 5 huge trees, which came down like Pick-up-Sticks all around the shed we were in.  The shack, built of gum and spit in the 1950s, was totally unscathed.

And you remember the winter storm that levelled our shed?  The following spring, Steve said "This won't happen again", and proceeded to reconstruct it, gluing every joint of that plastic shed.  All during the storm, the shed didn't so much as quiver.  And if you look carefully at the left corner of the roof, the tree clipped it, and dented the plastic roof, but because it was glued, didn't dislodge it.

As soon as we were able to leave the shed, I wanted nothing more than to be back on terra firma.  He couldn't hack fast enough for me, although I tried to conceal my anxiety.  Nonetheless, the next day, when we came back to survey the damage, I had the distinct impression that the island saved our lives.  The trees fell all around us, but didn't fall on us, and the one that fell in front of us closed the doors just enough to protect us with a huge limb of fresh leaves, which filtered the winds.  It even left the door just a few inches ajar, equalizing the air pressure and allowing some light and viewing.  I had the urge to prostrate myself on the ground and hug the island.

Our Shed

What's left of our swing

Some of the felled trees

Our boat is under here 

Happy Anniversary!

So over December break, we decided to do some shopping in Albany. As we neared the turn-off for the road that goes to the lake, I suggested to Steve that, since it was just one year since we first saw the island, we drive by the same route, just to reminisce. Last year, the first trip was made by driving along all the little lake roads so we could view it from various angles. Since the lake level was lowered, we couldn't actually get onto it in winter.

This year we just drove to the nearest point of the nearest road. And, lo and behold, we could see, even without the binoculars that helped us make a decision last December, that the new shed was laying on its side, toppled over by the recent storm we had! Were the anti-plastic gods punishing us for erecting it last summer? We won't know till late May how all the now-exposed tools & thinking swing fared.

But the thing that surprised me most was how ugly everything looks in December -- the roads, the terrain, the dried-up lake bed. I can't believe we had enough foresight to buy it then!

Buttoning Up

Our last hurrah. Last weekend on the island for this season. Ostensibly to "button up".

If the lake looked wonderful in summer, it looks positively gorgeous in autumn, and once again reminded both us us, separately, of our visit to Lake Placid last September.

Did a few end-of-season chores: lime & fertilizer on the ground, put the Thinking Swing in the shed, but mostly it was just a chance to say goodbye. The thought did cross my usually optimistic mind that who knows what the future may bring, if something will intervene so we can't return, as it did with the previous owners. But for now, I'll just be grateful for the wonderful summer we had on the lake.

More on the Destroilet

It turned out the Destroilet was, in fact, put into production.

Ad for one: http://theimmaculateconsumption.wordpress.com/2009/08/12/introducing-the-destroilet/

Another person's reminiscences:

http://theworldwasturning.blogspot.com/2010/05/arriving-at-cabin-or-destroilet.html

And as recently as 2005, someone was looking for a replacement for his old Destroilet. Apparently it was still working, but he had to replace parts, including his squirrel cage(!)

http://www.kountrylife.com/cgi-bin/viewit.cgi?bd=forum&th=185444

And, the Pièce de résistance, a band which calls itself "Destroilet", which you can check out on youtube.

Scary, but not yet Halloween

Somehow Steven got loose on the island without me. True, the pontoon boat had to be taken out of the water before they lowered the lake level. He took Seth, purportedly to help do that, and "tighten up for the winter".

They were gone all day. I have no idea what I'll find either down or up next trip.

Hustle Time

Over the summer, we've named the major buildings on the island. Besides the obvious Outhouse, there's The Shed and The Shack. Well, ok, that's it. There's not much more there, except the wood piles.

Anyway, The Old Shed is down (now called the Wood Pile North), and The New Shed is up. We've decided to move The Shack forward more, closer to the water, but that's mostly next season's project. Meanwhile, remember those holes Steve dug earlier in the summer? Well, we've poured concrete in them, ready for the foundation of The New Shack.

Yesterday we loaded the barge and brought the old stove and a bunch of other assorted crap that couldn't burn to the dock, unloaded it onto the truck and hauled it away.

Reversing the order, we brought onto the island via a return trip the concrete bags, 6x6 posts, assorted tools, and I can't remember what all else, I was so beat. Steven's a crabby boss, and the pay sucks.

Other people at the dock usually look at us on our barge oddly, but they're too polite to voice their curiousity about the random assortment of flotsam and jetsam we surround ourselves with. Whereas other party boats hold better dressed people and beer, we look like a couple of old hoboes who've gone dumpster diving along the shore. There are only a couple of islands on the lake, and right now we're the only ones doing any work, so people undoubtedly aren't thinking along those lines. But I can still see their unspoken questions as to where the heck we got, and where the heck we're going, with all that crap. Couple of more forward people will inquire how the fishing is. Just for laughs, Steve simply says we weren't fishing, just "out on the lake". I smile, but never offer an answer. Just as with magic tricks, reality isn't as interesting as imagination.

But yesterday was the best. A group of about 5 older guys, all dressed chips ahoy, were taking a beautiful wood boat out of the water while I was sitting docked, surrounded by the detritus of the former owner's, and now my, life. This was their boat's maiden voyage after a summer-long restoration, and the contrast couldn't be more appalling. But they held their collective tongue.

Steven whispered that I should show some leg, and maybe they'd give me a hand hauling. But 1. maybe he didn't remember what my legs look like, and 2. they were all reaching for the hand sanitizer.

I never offered. My leg or an explanation. But just wait till they see the fridge coming ashore!

Plastic drifts onto the Island

Well, not exactly. We brought it on. Deliberately. The days are getting shorter, and there are a few projects we need to button up before winter.

There are three structures on the island: the shed, the shack, and the outhouse. And then there's the woodpile. Every week we find yet another piece of the shed and/or shack on the ground and relegate it to the wood pile. The shed is actually pulling away from the shack, to which it's attached. Or is it vice-versa? We don't know if one is actually holding up the other, or which one, or if they're co-dependent, but they're doing a pretty bad job of it in any case. And since all our tools, gadgets and gizmos are stored in one of those two, we have to "do something about it", as Steve would say.

So in the interest of time, last night we bought a Rubbermaid garden shed plus other wood stuff needed to stand it on, piled it all on the pontoon boat (work boat, party boat, barge, deck, or dining room, depending on what we're using it for) and hauled it out to the island to assemble.

It should be done tomorrow. I'm so ashamed, so very ashamed...