The Power of Hurricane Baked Goods

When a hurricane's on the way, I get the urge to bake. After my other preps are done, I make 4 or 8 loaves of bread, and/or 3-4 dozen cinnamon rolls (Sin Rolls), maybe brownies or oatmeal raisin cookies.

It comforts me.

However, the point is the baking. I don't eat much of this stuff myself, except some of the bread.

These are Hurricane Baked Goods. I take them around to the neighbors, who are gracious enough to be enthusiastic about them.

Before Wilma hit, I wore myself out clearing stuff out of the yard. After that I was just too tired to bake.

And look what happened. What a mess of a hurricane we had.

So for Gamma, I wasn't going to be caught short again. No. There's too much at stake.

Sunday morning I made the Sin Rolls.

I foisted some off on neighbor Anita, who was at her print shop with her guy and her daughter and the daughter's daughter, the lovely and charming young Sarah. This was their first time for Sin Rolls.

But after that - no one was home!

Neighbor Susan only had one-half of one last time. Her mom and dad scarfed the rest. So I made sure to have the prettiest plate ready for her. Her car was home.

But no answer! AAAUUUGGGHHH!!! I left the plate on the hood of her car.

Across the street are her parents. No answer! I left the plate on their back stoop.

Across from them is Susan's aunt Dorothy. I really like Dorothy. She has some health problems, like me, and is totally unflappable in a hurricane. Even better, she's got a famous sweet tooth.

No answer! I left them on a table on her front porch, along with her Sunday paper.

Down the block to Jeff's. He doesn't have a car so he's ALWAYS home, except while at work cheffing.

No answer! I left the plate on his porch bench.

Across from him are Tom and Norman, some of my all-time favorite neighbors of my entire life. No car. I sigh. I call my mom, who's left a message on my cell phone. I've been trying to get her to eat a Sin Roll for two years. She's very firm about her diet. Would she please eat one?

After some wrangling, I got a yes. Yay! For TWO! One for kmom, one for her neighbor Ruth.

And I ask: can I go to her apartment instead of her coming to my house? This would give me a perfect excuse to burn some gas cruising around debris piles, taking the scenic route over there instead of I-95.

Yes! She'd rather. She's on deadline and up to her eyeballs in alligators.

I drove across the street to Tom and Norman's to drop off the plate. And lo and behold - they were home.

?!

Their faithful and well-kept old car had finally dropped its transmission, and was in the shop. Norman looked glad to get the sin rolls, and although I'd hoped to visit for a bit, I explained I was on my way to kmom's with an Important Sin Roll delivery. As he's a perfect gentleman - Tom is too - he understood.

Now the Saturn, for once in its life, was clean from head to toe, inside and out. This was owed to the trip to the insurance adjuster's last week. I didn't have the back seats down and the trunk area protected with cardboard and old rag sheets like usual. Mostly I wanted to cruise for pix and make notes on places to pick stuff up on Monday.

And, of course, I came across the most fascinating pile of stuff...There were beautiful pieces of old driftwood, large and small, some oak in unusual small chunks. Great stuff for airplants. Oh, I'm getting really excited here. I can't just LEAVE it. Maybe the chippers would come!

So out come the latex gloves and the big black garbage bags, and I break up some big cardboard boxes from the pile and line the car...

And a very nice, intelligent, curious lady of a certain age walks up.

"Hi!"

--Hello!, she says, displaying a lovely North Carolina accent. --I should tell you, do you know that's not all oak there?

--I'll answer you, but I have a question first: Can you guess why I'm looking for wood?

--Well, I don't know. I thought maybe firewood?

--I can't say no - I love fires - but I'd burn this only after I used everything I could for growing airplants. I mount them on the wood.

--Oh!

She's intrigued. I tell her about what kind of wood I like, what the plants like, all that.

--Well, if you'd like more oak, I have a big pile by the side of my house. It's been there for two years and I keep thinking people will want it for firewood but hardly anyone's taken any.

Oh happy day! What beautiful stuff. Norma's her name. We have a riot running down these modern fools who don't get the value of oak, whether cut or living trees. She tells me firewood's now going for $100/cord. More than double what I remember from Shreveport.

Then a nice couple from across the street comes by. I can see the top of the woman's head. I NEVER get to see the top of anyone's head except Little Miss Attila's. I tower over her at the rate of about an inch, not including the bun.

Turns out the man's a tree service guy, an independent. Also a metalworker. For YEARS I've been telling Walter I need to find a metalworker. His name's Alan. It's his FPL tree trimmer contractor truck next to the debris pile.

It's his driftwood, too. Hurricane cleanup gives lots of us a good case of the Throwaways. You see stuff that wasn't necessarily damaged, but you've been looking at it cluttering your house or yard for too long, and you want to ditch it and start fresh.

He got the driftwood in Key West. A resident there would collect it on the beach, and stack it up behind his house. Alan would select certain pieces and bring them home and make beautiful waterfall features with them. That's one in the middle picture below. The "leaves" winding up the driftwood are copper, and he made them himself.

As you can imagine, Alan has been more than busy with tree cutting work lately, and hasn't had time for waterfalls. Some of the driftwood's been there 25 years. He decided to toss it. And boy, am I glad.

His wife loves to grow orchids and other epis, just like me. I love her mountings and arrangements. They're superb Plant Rescuers in their own right, and all their gorgeous landscaping consists of rescued plants. I'm getting a yard tour and Norma's gone to liberate her dog from her car. Talk talk talk...Alan asks me what kind of wood I like to use. --Well, live oak, cypress, slash pine, you know. The stuff it volunteers on. And sapodilla! Really hard to find, but it's such a great host, I met a lady who had three staghorns and a huge orchid volunteer on her sapodilla.

He certainly knows his trees. He said he'd just put in a bid for a sapodilla removal! If he got the job would I like some wood?

Oh ecstasy!

By the time we drift apart again I've got his card, they've got my name and phone number, and he knows what size and cuts I like in wood. He'll call me when he's got some good stuff. I am so thrilled. Collecting and handling the wood is what's been wearing me out, so this means a great deal to me.

I'm back at the car and I think of something: --Hey! Do you like cinnamon rolls?

--I love cinnamon rolls. My absolute favorite.

--Can I get you to eat one of these? I bake for the hurricanes and give them to my friends and no one's home today.

He accepts one. He eats. His eyes almost roll back in his head in joy. He talks his wife into eating one.

I tell him, I'll bake you all the cinnamon rolls you can eat.

He laughs. He says, Perfect! I work for food.

I laugh. --I bake for wood!



And think about it: This time I baked. And Gamma fizzled away to nothing.