This morning P and I are, again, away from Wyldswood, plying our trade in an operating room and a Zoom deposition, respectively. I have endured many Zoom depositions during this pandemic, and find they work out just fine although the old silverbacks in the legal community don't seem to particularly like them.
The farm may be bucolic and a tonic for the spirit, but it's also expensive. There always seems to be a fried solenoid on a tractor or zero turn mower, some rotten boards in need of repair, compromised fences, or a neglected space crying out for renovation. Hence, these trips back to civilization to replenish the bank account.
Of course, if medical science could just find a way to perform anesthesia via Zoom, we'd probably never stray outside the gate of the farm. I'm not holding my breath.
Beyond the demands of our vocations, real life also brings the inevitable, unwelcome visitor along the Gulf Coast, this time Hurricane Laura. These catastrophes punctuate life here, and always have. I recall returning home to Lynn Haven in the middle of law school in 1995, and finding a bathtub ring three feet up the walls of the house from the storm surge of Hurricane Opal. Over two decades later, we found ourselves stranded in Dayton, Ohio when Hurricane Irma struck in the middle of my squadron reunion and all the flights in and out of Atlanta were cancelled. After two days hanging around the cafes in the Oregon District brunching and cataloging cocktail recipes, we finally were forced to drive home to Panama City overnight, and through the remnants of the storm, so I could mediate a case in Destin that then lasted until nine at night. It was an endurance exercise beyond anything I'd experienced outside of combat.
Then there was the great catastrophe of our adult lives when Hurricane Michael swept through Panama City as a category 5 storm and destroyed everything. And by "everything", I mean everything. We were refugees, beginning what has become nearly a half-dozen moves over the last two years, always on the cusp of finding normal but not quite there yet. At the same time, catastrophe and destruction also mean opportunity and the ability to rebuild our lives in a different, better way. My friends in Panama City are living that truth, at an excruciatingly slow pace as things rebuild. On a personal level, we're living it as well, with life on Wyldswood the culmination of it all, rediscovering in an old space the peace we'd lost in the days before the storm.
Now there is Hurricane Laura, a monster storm like Michael that is shaping up to be an inconvenience for us, rather than a disaster.
Tomorrow after work we were planning to fly the Cardinal up to Knoxville to visit a dear relative who is gravely ill. Right around the time I'd be lining up for a night approach into McGhee Tyson Airport, however, what's left of this storm will be making a mess of the weather in east Tennessee. It's Hurricane Irma all over again--what should have been an enjoyable flight is shaping up to be a long drive through the night in the rain. Such is life on the Gulf Coast this time of year.
And so it goes.
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