Don’t know how far the news traveled, but we had the mother of all windstorms last night. For some people, the wind wasn’t so bad. Those living in more sheltered places might have seen gusts of 60 knots. Well, little chillies, gather ‘round, because I’m going to tell you the story of the Great Vashon Blow of Aught-Six.

A few nights ago, we had a windstorm. The weather wonks guessed we saw sustained winds in the 30-40 knot range, and gusts up to 65 at Boeing field in Seattle. I think that’s probably about what was happening on Colvos Passage, but I’d say the sustained winds were higher. The building rattled and things went thump and then at 3:30 in the morning, I heard a WHUMP and I knew a transformer somewhere had just earned its wings.

Last night, the weather folks predicted much worse, beginning much earlier in the day. The high school, after one parent phone call, sent home all the commuter students at 11 am (these kids commute to us by ferry, and if wind is high, the ferries might not run). There was no wind at that time. Then the high school forced the commuter teachers to go home at 3:00; the vice principal drove them to the ferry. Still no wind.

Those of us at the elementary school noticed that the sky was very dark around 3pm, but we were able to send all the kids home at the usual time without mishap. The grocery store was full at 4:00, though my friend LMT said she wasn’t about to make a bunch of panic purchases.

Our staff Christmas party began about 4, at the same time the rain began. It was torrential. But all were in good spirits, drinking spirits, eating the nine different cracker and spread plates (thank goodness someone thought to bring brownies, eventually!). The party broke up at 7-ish, and all went home to their respective Valhallas to see what was coming next.

Finally, around 9pm, it hit. Big whooshing, roiling air. Whistling and clanging and clattering of things. Still, nothing as bad as the previous time. The cats were chasing each other around, so I should have known what was in store.

Around midnight, I came down from the sleeping loft, unable to handle the idea that, if the roof were to come off, the next thing below it was me. Kitties and I snuggled up on the couch with the propane heater feebly spitting out four-dollar-a-gallon minor warmth.

This wind, this so-called wind, this affront to all things, was a monster. Again, for some people who don’t live in the maw of an open waterway, this will seem like an exaggeration. Of course I take some literary license, but by all means this is a faithful account of the hoop-de-doo that was Colvos Passage last night.

My lovely ramshackle mendicant of a building was dancing the hootchie-koo. (Hey, there’s the Coast Guard, patrolling the waterway. Thanks, you guys and gals.) There was no real sleep going on. Each gust – wham – hit the building like – wham – a gong mallet against – wham, wham - an industrial sized drum of some foul liquid. I came fully awake several times as my couch swayed under me. Rock and roll!

At 5:45am I got the call from my school principal that there would be no school today, since there was not only no power, but too many trees down in the roads and therefore no actual routes to school. This is the third day we’ve had a school weather closure, which means one teacher in-service day will now be a student day, and we will have two days added onto the end of the school year. Hope everyone has time to move those cut-and-run plane tickets and hotel reservations.

I felt pretty smug, knowing I had propane heat (however feeble) and a Coleman stove. I hauled that puppy out to the deck with my one canister of LP and fired her up. A girl’s gotta have tea! A girl’s gotta have a nutritious breakfast of – oh, cup o’noodles. Hmm. Well, better than nothing, and it’s warm. The only problem was that I smelled something funny as the stove was burning, a rubbery smell. I discovered when I turned off the stove that there was still flame, but not on the burner. It was around the push-valve where the neck of the propane tube connects with the stove. I’m afraid there was a minor (?) leak and the rubber gasket inside the neck is now a bit less concentric to the rest of the parts. I think it’s time to consider a stove that cost more than $5 and didn’t come from the thrift store. Despite all this, I got a short pot of Earl Grey and two noodle cups out of the water I had boiled. And now it’s cornflakes and chips with salsa I guess.

Surprising storm notes: My prayer flags are still hanging on my deck, though now looking far more authentically ragged than before. The wind blew fist-sized rocks off my railing, yet spared a plastic container of catnip. The 20-knot winds now blowing up the channel seem like silence.