Hurricane Fran smashed into Wake County on Sept. 5-6, 1996, causing about $900 million damage to residential and commercial property in my county alone.
Our subdivision, Greens Pines, was messed up bad — trees were down on houses and cars, blocking driveways, and laying crisscrossed on our street like fiddle sticks.
Except for a few small branches, our house appeared untouched, thank goodness.
Early that Friday morning some of my neighbors were already out in the street, chain sawing, when I joined them and cranked up my Husqvarna. They had smaller saws, or dull chains, or both. My “Husky” was easily the king of the road.
One by one the other saws went silent until I was the only one cutting. The other guys started dragging trees and limbs I had cut, and it won’t easy for them to keep up. My chainsaw was humming.
I cut all day, getting trees out of the neighborhood streets and driveways and off houses and cars. Twice men said to me, “It sure pays to have good equipment.”
Both times I replied: “Equipment? It’s not the equipment, it’s the operator.”
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Postscript: The next day my wife, Donna, and I drove to be beach, on a vacation that we had planned weeks earlier.
Great timing, I thought.
The power was off in our neighborhood and stayed off for several days. But Hatteras Island, North Carolina, where our family had rented a beach front house, was untouched. Hurricane Fran had come ashore at Wilmington, 175 miles to the south as the crow flies.
When we returned home a week later I discovered my mistake. One of the small branches I hadn’t paid attention to, about the size of a broom handle, had gone through our roof like a spear — and rain had done the rest. Part of our kitchen ceiling was on the floor.
Coming Monday: Censored