Last night, I went out to the front porch to watch the thunderstorm, and suddenly, the sky went black and I heard this roaring, howling wind – a sound I don’t remember every hearing before. Our cable went out suddenly and after a few minutes, the sky began to lighten and the rain stopped, but the wind and darkness and sound was so intense I came inside.

This was no thunderstorm.

I had the sense something bad was about to happen. And it did, but not to us.

Our farm was largely untouched, but when Maria and I drove into town Saturday morning, we were both stunned by what we saw – hundreds, if not thousands of big and beautiful old trees and smaller pine trees had been knocked down, some of them hit houses, some trailer parks were devastated, debris was everywhere – trees against houses, in the street, blown down in the woods.

There was so much damage.

Then I saw the black SUV’s and TV crews line up. Someone important had come to town, reporters and local officials and emergency crews don’t drive big armored SUV’s.

Then I saw our Governor, Governor Cuomo, standing in front of this very house surrounded by a gaggle of reporters and talking with shell-shocked home owners and speaking to the reporters. Many homes were damaged and countless trees blown down, almost everywhere we looked.

Lots of people had huge trees crash into their houses, destroying rooftops and rooms and even knocking some old homes off of their foundations. A lot of close calls.

In small towns like this, we all feel responsible for one another, and the streets were flooded with pickup and utility trucks, neighbors rushing to help with saws, volunteers from towns all around, bit men in trucks, first responders. So many stories of people rushing to help other people, chopping trees down, cutting them into logs, stacking them along the curbs. There was a lot of shock.

It wasn’t a tornado, as people first believed, it was,  said meteorologists and state officials, a Microburst. 

Microbursts, we discover are rare, and are worse than most tornadoes. A microburst is a small column of exceptionally intense and localized sinking air that results in a violent and sudden “outrush” of air on the ground. It can produce – did produce – straight-line winds of more than 100 miles per hour that are similar to tornadoes, but without the rotation.

A microburst often has winds that can knock over large and fully grown trees.

The size of a microburst is typically less than three miles across, and it can last anywhere from a few  seconds to several minutes. On the weather charts, it looks like an upside-down nuclear blast.  It did unimaginable amounts of damage here. My beautiful little down is banged up and hurting.

From what we can see, it stopped just short of our farm.

The damage we see down the road is just numbing. Yet the spirit of small towns and neighbors is remarkable. By tonight, all of the roads are clear, logs and brush cut and lined up for miles.

No one was seriously hurt, power is back on for all but a few people.

The people whose homes were crushed or  damaged are all in apartments or with relatives, insurance agents and  state trucks and power repair crews were swarming all over town, there are flashing lights everywhere. It will take a good long while to clean up and repair all those homes.

Some of the most beautiful old trees were just blown over, their huge roots sticking up in the air

We are very grateful the microburst stopped short of us – that was the rushing and roaring nose I  heard last night. I am very grateful to live in a place where strangers rush to take care of one another. The governor wasn’t here long, we probably won’t see him again, but the streets were just crammed with people doing good and helping each other out.

And every body I spoke with tonight said the same thing. We were lucky, it could have been worse. In America, it seems that many people – millions – have suffered from natural disaster – hurricanes, fires, drought, mudslides. It all seemed remote to us, but it doesn’t seem remote now.

We are lucky, and yes, it could have been a lot worse.

I am sorry for the struggles of my neighbors, but I am very proud to live here.