We had our jazz passes by the door so we wouldn’t forget them. This was the first night of the first Jazz Fest, the first Festival in three years. We were preparing dinner when we heard a loud crash, a familiar sound to anyone who lives in our neighborhood. This one sounded close and it was.
A large limb, large as in about two feet in diameter, broke off an oak on the hill behind our house. It fell downhill of course but that limb was heavy enough to snap the tree standing next to it in half. Both fell right on the power lines putting so much pressure on them that they pulled two utility poles down. The wires were lying in the middle of the road. We called 911.
The street down below is a dead end so anyone who lived down there was trapped on a Friday night. And they were all without power. Our internet went out. We went out front to talk to the neighbors and saw Michael Burritt and his wife coming up the hill with a picnic basket. They had made dinner for some friends and couldn’t get by our tree so they called an Uber and planned to pick it up out on Culver.
A small army of Birchcrest men and women with chainsaws cleaned up before the sun went down and RG&E showed up with huge spotlights just as we were going to bed.