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  • Hurricane season in the Atlantic always stirs my blood. I apologize up front for any insensitivity here. I was very young the season of my first hurricane. I think my hurricane memories are more visceral than time and place. I am guessing as to which ones connect to which memories.

    My first memories of family stories are of hurricanes and fires. My grandmother's father was a fireman. More on that later.

    I remember Hazel in 1954. She was big. I loved that back then they were all girl names. So much was about boys. I was 8. I remember going outside to see if I could stand up. It was a game my brother and I played. My mom strangely let us do this at least until it got dangerous. We were not raised to fear hurricanes.

    and Donna in 1960. We went over just to see the beach and the waves. We might have driven two hours from Baltimore. There were craters in the beach 15 feet deep. The waves were 20 feet high. It was loud and wild and beautiful. I am talking wild Chincoteague ponies beautiful!

    But every time there was a hurricane while my mom was alive, and often when there hadn't been one for too long, she would get talking about 1933, the one that cut the inlet between Assateague and Ocean City. The whole family was there. My grandfather and Uncle Hugh were ferrying people off. Water was in the streets up to my mom's waist. The boardwalk was washed away. Sometimes folks who miss the old days when Ocean City was a sleepy little town, express the wish for a big one to come again, not hurt anybody, just to make it a sleepy town again.,0,6378003.photogallery
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