Grilling in a hurricane

It’s 6 p.m. on Friday and we’re on Shelter Island, NY, visiting John Cadwallader and his girl friend Annie Boylan. Hurricane Earl is spinning up the east coast at 18-23 miles an hour. Downgraded to category 1 hurricane and then a tropical storm, it is still kicking up 35 to 45 mile per hour winds with some gusts as high as 50. Shelter Island is sandwiched between Montauk on the south fork and Orient Point on the north or east end of Long Island. And while not out at sea like Block Island, it is still exposed and somewhat vulnerable to such weather “events.”

John has been busy most of the day moving lawn furniture close to the house and securing a couple more lines to “Dreamboat Annie,” their 29-foot motorboat that’s tied to the dock below the house. Since the storm isn’t supposed to reach us till evening, Virginia and I decide to take the seven-minute ferry ride to Greenport to shop and have lunch at Bruce’s Cheese Emporium on Main Street, a place we used to frequent when John managed the terminal for the big ferries that run between on Orient Point and New London, Conn.

By 5 o’clock the wind is starting to pick up and some of the stores are closing early so we decide to head back to SI. On the return crossing the sky is a brilliant pink with a few cirrus clouds stretched high above. Except for the ferry, there are no boats on the water, and its Labor Day Weekend!  But no one on the island seems too concerned about the approaching storm. “We need the rain,” says the clerk in the liquor store where we picked out a couple of bottles of wine for dinner.” It hasn’t rained in a month.” Two young men are getting recommendations from him on proportions for making a good make margarita. Across the street at the hardware store there is no run on batteries and flashlights and I only see one woman carrying a jug of spring water.

John calls to tell us to pull the car up next to kitchen, close to the house and away from any trees that might come down in the storm. He planned to grill chicken but with the winds picking up and threat of heavy rain, he’s moved to an indoor strategy. He has already wrapped the gas grill in its black vinyl cover and secured it with a rope tied in a neat square knot.

By the time we park and take our loot inside steady sheets of rain are splashing against the house. From the dining room we can hear the wind is picking up, fog is moving into the bay and I can see white caps cresting on the water between Greenport and us.

We lite candles for dinner in case the power goes out. Just before we sit down I feel a drop of water from overhead. There’s a leak around one of the skylights in the kitchen ceiling and the tape at the corner of the sheetrock is already drooping . Big bummer, but not life threatening and we soon have a saucepan in place on the floor to collect the drops.

After dinner, Lula and I run across the yard to the guesthouse to feed her. She sprints at top speed to get out of the gusty wind and rain. On the way back I get soaked by what seem like buckets of water hitting me broadside. More than an inch of rain has fallen and 15-foot waves are being reported off Montauk, according to John’s weather radio. We relax and watch a movie on TV at 9. By 11 when we go back to the guesthouse the rain has stopped and the wind is already beginning to die down. By midnight Earl has pretty much passed us by.

At 9 a.m. Saturday morning it is sunny and in the 70s. The sky is pale blue and the only clouds are small and at the horizon. The wind continues to blow through the trees and I hear a rope clanging against the flagpole next door. Motorboats are once again plowing through the choppy water toward Gardner’s Bay.