I left work a few minutes early on Tuesday to arrive in Potsdam, my home town, about 30 minutes after the storm. Pulling in on Rt 11, the devastation to trees on the Clarkson Hill campus first caught my eye, and then the flooded intersection below. Yikes! So I hurried home, which was closely surrounded by bigger and sicker trees than those that now lay all over the ground. And found no power, no internet–but no damage. Whew!<\/p>\n
But I couldn’t stay home. Not having heard about the state of emergency, I drove into the village to, to–well–gawk. Evans and White in the river and\u00a0 my only approved pizza joint on the planet peeled open like a zip-top. Trees on roofs, yellow-vests directing traffic, random debris, caution tape and flashing emergency vehicles galore, and plenty of fellow gawkers.<\/p>\n
And I was excited, almost elated. The familiar was transformed, made new, albeit ruinously. Those with damaged businesses, homes and cars of course saw it differently. And fortunately, there were no seriously injured to see it even more differently. While I would like to think my first thoughts would be with those who suffered loss, my reaction as one of the unscathed was instinctive and common, if one can judge by old sayings. Like this one quoted (metaphorically, I presume) by the late Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall: “I love peace, but I adore<\/em> a riot.”<\/p>\n The primal message of random disaster is that “anything can happen.” But the corollary is “so anything is possible.” And that’s immensely liberating. The certainties of life are reassuring, but also confining, and brittle. When one certainty is shaken, all are cast in doubt. We gawk in amaze with new eyes. We come alive to new possibility. Here’s an old poem of mine–about 40 years old–that carries something of the feeling:<\/p>\n When the wind blows east, And sometimes, the roofs And half a village will vanish So kiss me under this streetlamp, Though I’m well past looking for pick-up lines–which my older eyes now see this is–there is something about peeking over the edge of one’s life. It’s the juice that drives daredevils and war correspondents, I think. It’s very sweet, as long as the railing holds.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I left work a few minutes early on Tuesday to arrive in Potsdam, my home […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[6128],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2443"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2443"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2443\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2444,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2443\/revisions\/2444"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2443"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2443"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2443"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}\n
These Things Happen<\/h3>\n
\nthe trees sometimes rip up
\ntheir roots and topple.<\/p>\n
\nof trailers fly off, despite
\nthe bald and peeling retreads
\nthat weigh them down.<\/p>\n
\nin the ground as caverns
\ncollapse beneath it.<\/p>\n
\nand in the hallway of your house,
\nand halfway up the stair.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n