An acquaintance's home, most likely no longer inhabitable.
A beach in the back yard is always good, except when
the ocean is in the front yard.
I don't think they'll end up saving that pool.
The house that survived the new inlet. An otherwise fairly
unremarkable structure, until you consider the owner's foresight
to build high in case of an unthinkable event.
We rode our bikes down Barnegat Lane on Saturday, stopping to gaze
at the still unbelievable carnage, and to snap some photos to be
shared a couple days later. It's still quite a somber scene there;
residents were in their yards, quietly raking gravel, picking up
debris that I assumed would've been picked up months ago. There
was a distinct smell of lumber in the air, the smell you get when you
go to the back of the lumber yard to pick up your 2X4s. I'm sure
that the smell was not only of new lumber, but of splintered and wea-
thered beams and joists, blasted apart by the rush of the Atlantic as
it flowed over and through the narrow strip
of sand they call Mantoloking.
Outsiders like us tend to be detached from the reality of agonizingly
slow progress when it comes to disaster-stricken areas. We hear
that aid has been granted to such and such towns, so as far as we're
concerned, everything's hunky dory. Not so for so many of these
shore folk. The process continues, very slowly.