Jersey Shore Magazine
Issue link: https://www.ifoldsflip.com/i/141619
light as far as we could see. We lit candles and prepared to retire from our anxious and exhausting day, not knowing what the sun would reveal the next morning. I woke up to the first of thirteen unsettling days without power and started the generator. My neighbors were gassing theirs up as well. My next walks to the shoreline would unveil the epic destruction and emotional fallout from Sandy's visit. I viewed streets that were treacherous because of four feet of standing water. The National Guard and local police had no answers to anyone's questions—just commands not to go into town, any town! Obsessed homeowners, in fisherman's waders, were trying to traverse the deeply pooled streets to check damage. In Bay Head, I spoke with a fearful tenant, with his backpack over his head, making his way through four feet of water to Mueller's Bakery to retrieve his belongings in the upstairs apartment. I was becoming numb. Five to six feet of sand were on the streets, which were riddled with debris. I witnessed expressions of grief and despair in and around flooded and destroyed homes. Porches and house decking were in the streets right next to kitchen tables and flat screen TVs. Just walking you were taking a chance of stepping on sharp metal or falling into a hole in a structurally unsound street. Certain streets in Mantoloking had become inlets to the great Atlantic Ocean. These inlets splintered and erased dozens of homes into Barnegat Bay. Every block I walked was more emotionally paralyzing than the next as I headed south down the beach to one of the ocean/bay breaches. The smell of natural gas was enough to make you ill. Police and National Guard showed themselves on the beach, and with looks of contempt, issued me, and others, a command to "leave, immediately!" We did. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. Sandy evoked so many emotions that I felt I was not in control of my life whatsoever, not knowing where my next gallon of gas or even a gallon of milk and some bread were going to come from. I felt as powerless and frightened as a child on a rollercoaster for the first time. The survivors of Sandy are still waiting for these feelings to subside and for this boardwalk ride to end so we can all disembark and go home—to our shore life once again. Patrick Smith is a tennis pro at the Mantoloking Yacht Club and the author of "Spring Lake, Revisited." He lives in Point Pleasant with his wife and kids. photo by Master Sgt. Mark C. Olsen, U.S. Air Force Water Writes by Gordon Hesse W ater fascinates us. It is all around, covering seventy percent of the Earth's surface. We start our lives in water; we bathe and are revived in water. We pay to own water—even though it is Lavallette, October 30, 2012, less than twenty-four hours after the storm. The earlier flooded oceanside of town is buried in sand, while the rest of town remains flooded. ephemeral, literally slipping through our fingers as it changes from liquid to solid to gas and back to liquid. Perhaps it is that changeability that fascinates us. Water—and wind—can be a "Beauty and the Beast" combination, whether it be in the ever shifting clouds, the rivers that flow and fall, or the waves that form—and sometimes tear apart—beaches and communities. continued on page 22 21