I was six years old. As I stood looking out the big, plate window of my room I saw what I thought was a branch that had fallen to the ground in the wind. Then as the branch seemed to grow in size I realized that the earth was splitting open. I stepped back from the window unsure of what was happening. What might rise from beneath the surface of the earth? Then the huge, ancient beech tree toppled, sliding through the rain as its roots clung desperately to the earth even as its leaves betrayed it to the wind. The storm had been blowing since dawn. I could hear the wind blowing across the chimney top as a nightmarish groaning rolled out of the fireplace and into the room. This was my first hurricane.
Hurricane Carol barn-stormed into Connecticut and Rhode Island in late August 1954. Like so many nameless storms that had proceeded Carol, she had strengthened over the warm waters of the Gulf Stream before speeding up and racing up the east coast to her destination.
The warm waters of the Gulf Stream arise out of the Gulf of Mexico. These warmer waters flow around the tip of Florida and up the southeast coast of the United States remaining close to the shore until the current passes North Carolina at Cape Hatteras. There the currents change direction to flow northeasterly towards northern Europe. The Gulf Stream remains significantly warmer than the waters of the central Atlantic or the coastal waters of the southeast United States. It is a band of swiftly moving warm currents between the shore and the deep ocean. Hurricanes that enter the Gulf Stream gather energy and moisture from the Gulf Stream due to the warmer water temperatures. The storms pick up moisture due to the higher rates of surface water evaporation. The storms intensify as the energy from the warmer surface waters rises through the storm causing the storm to rotate faster.
A NOAA article on tropical cyclones states “As long as the base of this weather system remains over warm water and its top is not sheared apart by high-altitude winds, it will strengthen and grow. More and more heat and water will be pumped into the air. The pressure at its core will drop further and further, sucking in wind at ever increasing speeds. Over several hours to days, the storm will intensify, finally reaching hurricane status … .”1
From the interaction of the warm water and pressures waves that originate off the west coast of Africa, storms develop that may end up hammering islands in the Caribbean, states on the eastern seaboard of the United States, or the states on the Gulf of Mexico. These storms are terrifying, and they are deadly. They destroy homes, businesses, and lives. Hurricane Carol which I witnessed as a young boy wreaked havoc on communities along the coast as it flooded businesses and homes, and tore apart fishing boats. However, it was by no means the greatest of these storms, nor the most costly. More people now live on the coast than 50 years ago. What were pristine beaches and wild salt-marshes in the 1950s are now crowded communities of condominiums and homes. Storms that caused inconvenience in years before now cause millions and millions of dollars in damage.
After Hurricane Carol passed we went outside. We stared at the huge beech that had shaken the foundations of the earth when it crashed to the ground. In coming days, we would play in its branches until it was eventually cut up and hauled away. When we ventured out onto the board avenue next to our apartment house, the street was crisscrossed with other fallen trees. There was a fallen tree about every 20 feet. It was like a ladder with the fallen trees as rungs. It was all fascinating and yet surreal that such great trees that only days before had shaded us from the summer sun now lay prostrate before the wind. I would see it again in North Carolina, South Carolina, and Virginia.
Today I hope the 300-year-old sycamores on our old North Carolina property still stand after Florence. A massive pine that had ruled the yard since my earliest memories had crashed to the ground in a storm five years earlier leaving a hole in the earth twenty feet across and eight feet deep. The same could have happened to these other great trees.
I know these trees; they are part of my life. My memories are of times spent in their shade. But I also I remember the terror of the wind. And I remember the family cleaning up the yard after the storm. I remember my mother cooking in the fire place for several weeks before power was restored, and I remember the final picnic under the ancient beech fallen now. The storms pass.
- NOAA Ocean Explorer site; https://oceanexplorer.noaa.gov/facts/hurricanes.html