Think back to when you were little and you first saw lightning and were frightened by the noise of the thunder that followed. My brother Ken and I were at the beach house on Fire Island one late summer afternoon in August of 1938. All of a sudden the sky turned dark. Mother and Dad gathered around us and made us watch the lightning bolts as they jabbed at the water. The closer they got, the louder the thunder claps grew and the faster they came. The rain increased in moments from a drizzle to an intensity that seemingly could only occur if someone emptied a bucket overhead. We were frightened but reassured by our parents who explained the phenomenon to us as it occurred. Neither of us ever forgot that scary afternoon and the sense of loving protection provided by our parents. I was six at the time. Ken was four.

Seventy-four years later, June 24, 2012, I was again on Fire Island. My son Graham, wife Paulette and our four grandchildren were hosting friends from Essex, CT, and their three daughters for the weekend. They were staying in the “Old House,” appropriately called La Casa Del Perro (or house of the dog, where the men in our family have been exiled when they are in trouble with their better halves for generations). Dorothy and I were staying in our other house on the bay readying it for the July renters. We were nearing the end of a month-long stay.

The weather had run the gamut, from two blanket nights to sweltering, still, near 100-degree days and sticky humid nights.

Grandson Graham, Jr. recently turned 13. His best friend Jack (whom he has known since he was three) arrived the previous day. The two boys had little interest in hanging out with Graham’s younger brothers Brad and Duncan and sister Tory plus the three little guests from Essex, and space was limited at La Casa.

Dorothy suggested that the boys stay with us. We had plenty of room on the ground floor. The visit was bittersweet. The boys were thrilled to see each other (they now live in different states). But Grahamie was still contending with the metal pins in his legs from his latest bone-lengthening surgery earlier this year. Jack stayed inside with Graham and helped him stay busy, reading, playing video games, watching the other kids play in the water in front of the house.

The boys stayed up very late talking the first night. The next day was busy, a swarm of kids swimming in the ocean and fishing and swimming off the dock. Jack joined in and Graham cheered from the sidelines. Everyone gathered at La Casa for a great steak dinner and then, much earlier to bed. The heat was oppressive all day and into the night. The weather forecasters were predicting the end of the heat wave with a high probability of thunderstorms and heavy rain over the next several days.

I tiptoed down the stairs at 5:30AM the next morning, shut the shell door leading to the back bedrooms, turned on the TV, volume very low, made a pot of coffee and settled in my chair at the table looking out on the bay just feet from the front of our cottage. The two sailboats moored offshore in the shallow water were pointed almost due east. The breeze, such as it was, had been in the same direction for days on end. The sunrise painted the early morning clouds bright red. An omen, an ancient bit of sailor’s lore predicting the weather to follow, came suddenly to mind, “Red sails at night, sailors delight; red sails in the morning, sailors take warning.”

The sky was cloudy across the bay to the north, large thunderheads billowing high in the distance beyond the mainland seven miles away, stretching in a wide front east to west. I turned to the Weather Channel. Little had changed overnight. The prediction was still cooler temperatures, thunderstorms, heavy rain and high wind gusts at times during the morning hours. So far nothing, but the clouds in the distance gave a hint of the coming cold front.

The sliding door opened as I poured my second cup of coffee. Graham and Jack appeared, sleepy eyed. It was now about 6AM. The sky to the west, southwest had become very dark and the wind had shifted to the southeast, picking up some in intensity. Dorothy was still asleep upstairs. In the next hour the dark sky began to spread from the southwest to the north. Gone was the red glow of sunrise replaced by the dark sky from the west. The sailboats became weather vanes and shifted direction as the clouds to the north drew nearer and the sky became lead gray turning darker as the wind shifted to the north. A large, long gray cloud formed quickly ahead of the approaching front.

The boys were now seated at the table. The three of us watched as the weather changed. This storm was the classic “line squall,” a row of thunderstorms ahead of a cold front. The sharp contrast of the long gray cigar shaped cloud against the now Wizard of Oz, ink black sky to the north was eerie. Suddenly lightning bolts, first at a distance, followed by booming thunder claps echoed closer and closer.

I told the boys that the cigar cloud contained high winds as it approached. Suddenly the sailboats were pointing north and white-capped waves started to lap the shore. A thin, light gray band appeared where the water meets the land of two small islands a half-mile offshore. I explained to Graham and Jack that the band was rain and would be on us quickly. The stark white hulls of the sailboats stood out against the dark of the storm. The cigar cloud broke. The wind shook the house. Lightning and thunder! It began to rain so hard that the sailboats disappeared from view. Dorothy joined us at the table. The TV went dark. The lights flickered and went off. For almost an hour we sat and looked out on the bay. Occasionally the rain let up enough to see the sailboats tugging at their moorings. The boys took it all in.

I jokingly pointed out to Graham that the metal fixators on his legs would make a ripe target for the lightning now crackling around our house. We were safe inside. The storm passed. The temperature broke and the north wind finally cleared out the remnants of the storm. For a few minutes during the height of the storm, I began to wonder how much worse it would get.

I suggested to the boys that they write about the storm. Together they wrote the following. The storm had made an impression!

 

STORM STORY

I look out at the incoming squall. It was a monster with giant cigar clouds, bright chain lightning and loud thunder. The wind is blowing from the N/NE. Visibility is low and I can see a white band on the water near East and West Island. Suddenly out of the west I see a small boat. As I observe closer I note that it is a small fourteen-foot day sailer, with a blue hull. The boat is flying along with her two-man crew, her sails full of twenty mph winds. On the horizon I notice that the rain and dark clouds are getting closer. Cupping my hands around my mouth I scream at the small boat to turn about and dock. However, the wind prevents my shout from carrying, and they bravely continue on. Seeming to notice the danger, the crew decides to tack. Suddenly the wind switches and the sails start to luff. In that same instant the storm is upon the small boat. Looking through binoculars I finally notice that the crew is actually just two thirteen year-old boys. In the rain, the two manage to drop the sails and turn the small boat into the oncoming wind.

After about ten minutes of braving the oncoming wind, they hoist the sail, tack and head southwest toward shore.

GRAHAM RIDER AND JACK WALSER

 

Fire Island Squall Summer 2012

 

MEDICAL UPDATE 7/17/2012

Last week, Grahamie flew to Florida with his parents to undergo removal of the fixators (metal pins) from both legs that were inserted to facilitate the bone lengthening process, which began with a seven-hour operation back in January. He has made remarkable progress and worked very hard at the rehab. The results are astounding: he is now 5 feet plus and with normal growth should top 5 feet three.

The operation took place yesterday and was a success.  Graham Sr. reported that it went off with only a minor glitch and that Graham Jr. is now on the mend at the condo where they are staying. They will fly home tomorrow. He will have a quiet period of rehab. No weight bearing for 45 days.