(Or, "Where's the Furshlugginer St. Bernard When you Need Him?")
The century-old burr oaks shimmy in the wind. I cannot see the road some 250 feet away.
It is timely, therefore, to think of the admiral's classification of winds. As the Camp J day progresses, we'll work our way up the scale.
First, Force 7:
Then, Force 9: Some branches break off trees, and some small trees blow over. Construction/temporary signs and barricades blow over.
(Those are the land conditions. For a further journey into mortal fear, see the link for parallel effects asea.)
The six inches of snow today will add to the merriment as we progress toward a predicted low of minus 15.
If you care to have your sympathy further elicited, see it live.