.Stormageddon (the Heck out of Here)

Let us pause a moment, a moment for Napa, which, and according to their reliable local sheet, has escaped the wrath of this storm, by about half, and good for them they had an earthquake.

West Marin is flooded, is gushing, is alive and flowing. Gulping it. Gorging on the endless drops, but this too shall pass, to the south. There’s some good luck with this storm, its timing, say the Marin emergency folks – we’re edging off a “low” high tide, which helps to keep the surge at bay. A blessing in that. 

I took a bike ride around the Big Mesa in Bolinas earlier. Saw a couple of big evergreen branches that bit it in the whipping night, one was yards from the house and obliterated a section of fence. Had to look real high to see where that branch fell from. What a crash. Nobody’s home. 

Of course, there’s chicken soup with a bacon and mushroom extender, bubbling away all day back home, made sure to have a big mug before heading out into the squalling.

A street-cleaner is working the bigger roads, the trash collectors are coming around too. Schools out, but these trucks can take it. 

Houses up here aren’t always occupied and some very rarely so. Now there’s a purple van in that one luxe driveway along Ocean Parkway at the very edge of the continent. I’ve seen that guy once in a year. The road here is straight and still paved, but the remorseless erosion claws at the edges up and down – up this way, it curves to a dirt road with county berms (and a large branch in the road, today) to discourage entry. The other way, the cool hippie house on the really fragile corner. They’ve moved out, there’s a  gravel berm at the fringe of asphalt, a fresh one, but the road is just rippling into the cliff and down to the churning relentless sea. 

Along the way down, an earthslide’s spotted, a black-brown gash of dirt-root in the greening cliff. Chewing the road.

The winds died down in the afternoon, a gentle cold pour. The sun is up there somewhere, afternoon gale before the long droning raindrops to sunset. The raingear is inadequate but bless those good rubber boots and thick socks. Warm and dry head and feet, and the awaiting soup, extended with bacon. Rich roasting coffee and the drips. 

Outside the storm is holding on, pounding out the inches, and people are clearing the roadside culverts of the leaves and debris and checking their sandbags, they take care of business up here.