by Tom Groenewel
Day Three: November 19, 1991
No electric power this morning. That means no lights and no heat. I don’t have wood for a fire.
Gale force winds are blowing off the Pacific, and trees are swaying back and forth.
I didn’t know trees could sway so much. Doesn’t seem natural. Branches break off and come hurling toward the house. Some hit, but none have come through the roof … yet.
Three inches of rain overnight according to my rain gauge.
I stop in at Lunsford Realty to take care of miscellaneous paperwork for my rental house.
Mr. Carrol Lunsford leads the cheer with, “Welcome to Forks.”
I stand in the hallway, unraveling my dripping rain-gear.
“Oh. Thank you,” I said smiling, trying to act like a local Spartan.
“It’s great to be here. Any idea when we might have power?”
“We heard some trees fell on the lines up towards Beaver. Usually the power is back within 24 hours.”
“How often does the power go out?”
“Well, lately it’s been happening more frequently. Either trees are falling on the power lines or landslides are taking out the poles.”
Oh. I didn’t think of landslides taking out the poles. Add that to my Forks weather list.
They wish me well.
Jamie Stoneman, a childhood friend from New Jersey, calls and wants to know the wind and rain report.
“How much is it raining right now?”
I bring the phone outside so she can hear the rain as it pounds on the porch roof.
We can’t hear each other the pounding is so loud.
5¼ inches of rain predicted by nightfall.
“Yes, Jamie, it’s still raining.”
Day 4: November 20, 1991
Morning in Forks, yet another day. No power yet, and it is still raining.
By mid-afternoon, there is a flicker of light. I freeze and hold my breath. I think of the best-case scenario: lights in a few minutes.
But there are no lights in a few minutes. Full power is restored an hour later. Good enough. 3 ½ inches of rain today.
I would like a sunny day, maybe partly sunny, or cloudy and dry. It’s time for a weather change. I’ve got to get my boots on the ocean beach.