August 3, 2014. Home at last in Alfonso! Everyone’s schedules finally converged and our family drove down to The Retreat for the weekend.   We had not visited Alfonso since Glenda happened, and I feared the worst at what I would find.

We arrived at dark last night, with the rains pouring, after a brief late afternoon stop at Bag of Beans. Not having had lunch, Niccolo and I were both hungry but it took some girl convincing for Niccolo to try out a new place. His heart was set on pizza but Dada had just come from Rome and didn’t want any. I was pleasantly surprised at how pretty Bag of Beans has transformed from the rustic place Mike and I would visit years ago. Their porkchop tastes just as delicious and smoky as I remember it to be, and the raisin bread I bought was still warm from the oven.

We stayed indoors last night watching a love story on DVD, against Niccolo’s protests, but then it was one against three so we won that round. Dear John, it was. Not a weeper, thank goodness! Signal was spotty, weaving in and out, so I finally gave up trying to connect to the outside world. The night was cold and the wind whipped as I stepped out to the lanai. Alfonso nights are always magical. Peace settled into my soul, and I whispered goodnight to Mike’s spirit. I turned off the garden lights and locked downstairs. It felt good to be back home, in bed and listening to the pitter patter of the rain outside.

Early this morning, I set out with our caretaker Jeovanie to check out Glenda’s damage to the farm. The landscape was different. I could see all the way to the other embankment, which used to hide behind our lush foliage before. Bereft of their crowning glory, the trees seemed much thinner and more fragile, just like Bugsy is after taking a bath. Capiz lights that adorned the trees were battered; some had lost their shells.  Fallen santol, rambutan and coconuts littered the ground, though I spied some kalamansi and dayap clinging on. It will take a while before we can enjoy the fruits of the farm again.

Trunks cut in half by the lashing of the wind stood sadly by. Trees leaned precariously on their sides, as if bowing down to the powers that be, unable to get back on their feet. It seemed that the biggest trees were the ones that could not withstand the onslaught of the storm and were uprooted completely: Five mangoes, one guyong guyong, one langka, one antipolo, several bamboos, and about a dozen and a half mahogany trees. The boys had tried to clear as much as they could but I still had to clamber over fallen logs to get around, and balance on the slippery moss-covered stones. Surprisingly, none of the 14 Stations of the Cross trees were damaged. Mike had taken care of them.

Jeovanie’s roof had flown off, but was now back in place. He tells me that most of our neighbors had lost their roofs, if not their entire houses. Why even the St. Paul nuns next door were not spared. Luckily, our house, outside kitchen and cabanas were not damaged, although Jeovanie said that at the height of the storm, he feared that the large picture windows would cave in with the pummeling of the wind, and that he and his wife Bleng were able to save the large glass top of our dinner table before the wind carried it off.

Despite the storm, however, the ground was lush with green, and new shoots were springing up. Rain, our dog, was running around, chickens were scratching for food while the roosters puffed up their chests to crow, birds chirped and flew from tree to tree. Everything smelled fresh and clean, as if God had given the world a bath to start the day right. And as I passed, the ylang-ylang tree perfumed the air. New life begins, and hope springs eternal.