The Nor’easter Storm, and the Ocean Waves That Go With It

As you may know, we in the northeast got a whopper of a wind storm the other day. Trees were uprooted, some crashed on homes and on streets, and power was out for nearly a day. Luckily, the Crankee Yankee and I have a generator, and it’s worth every cent. The wind whooped and howled all night long, and a lot of the beautiful fall leaves were ripped off the trees. We were glad to see that no tree limbs had fallen anywhere near us, and happier still that we have the generator.

So, after giving the cats their lunch, we took off to Hampton (NH) to check out the ocean waves and go get a lobster roll for lunch. Well—the waves almost looked like the ones I admired in Hawaii; they were rolling and rumbling and were tall enough for the handful of surfers in the water to stay alert.

The Atlantic ocean has an attitude of its own; it can go from soft green-blue waves that gently shush-shush onto the sand; they may even toss up gifts; beach glass, a shell or a sea urchin—or it can roar in and over embankments and fling salt water into the streets. For Hampton beach, the waves were pretty impressive.

The winds were still strong by the time we stopped at Petey’s, famous for their fabulous sea food. I had a lobster roll with coleslaw and fries, and the Crankee Yankee had fried oysters, onion rings and fries. We had just enough room to share a piece of key lime pie, which was absolutely devine.

Driving home, I remembered one of my favorite poems about the sea; “Sea Fever” by John Masefield:

“I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.”

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