With the news of Hurricane Irene making its way to the New York area, I was confronted with the choice of staying in the East Village within blocks of the danger zone or going with my wife and two kids to our house in Phoenicia, a hamlet on the Esopus River about 20 miles west of Woodstock. Judging by Irene's path, upstate seemed like the prudent choice since the hurricane was predicted to hug the shoreline making more inland areas a safer option. How wrong we were.

Heavy rains were expected and we knew from past experience that electricity was precarious at best on our road which runs through the Catskills State Park. Living in the watershed that produces all of New York City's running water, heavy rains and snow in the winter are a common occurrence as are the sight of New York State Electric and Gas and Time Warner Cable trucks restoring service on our dead-end road. After a leisurely afternoon eating barbecue swordfish and swimming in a friend's pond, we stopped at the Hurlely Ridge market to stock up on food with lots of chips, Doritos and Haagen Dazs, comfort food for the kids, as well as enough grub to keep us going for several days. Just in case, you know.

All went well until Saturday night when the rain started coming down hard and fast. Outside I heard our little trickling, ankle-deep stream rushing along kicking up rocks in its wake, all par for the course in the spring when the snow melts or after a torrential storm. And so I slept intermittently, awaking to the sound of the pounding rain until around 8 a.m. when my wife Brigitte came running up the stairs with the news that our neighbor Carol had come over to warn us to evacuate our house which was now surrounded by water. She invited us to her place up the road on higher ground. By now electricity was down as was the internet connection. We never have cell phone reception. We were effectively cut off.

And so it went for hours and hours, learning to play Yahtzee and getting to know our neighbors Carol, a freelance photographer, and her boyfriend Harry who owns the tubing business in town. No one was panicking, but we were definitely concerned, walking out occasionally in bare feet to see if the stream was surging any further and whether our house was flooded or even swept away. And then the rain let up and we went to check on our property. All was well. No electricity or running water, but we were glad to be back in our house and eternally grateful to our caring neighbor who maintains a blog for those living on our road.

We had a car but couldn't go anywhere because the road had been ripped up by the storm. So we ate, hung out with the dog, played Scrabble by candlelight and made the best of our camping situation.

Sunday the sun was shining and it all seemed like a bad dream, but it wasn't. Eventually, the road was repaired so we could drive into town to see the devastation in Phoenicia, where the bridge had been torn asunder by the normally placid Esopus. News trickled in about fast water rescues and houses floating away. The Thruway would be closed for a few days and we would get by. We were safe. We had an apartment in Manhattan with electricity and running water. My son could get back to his X-Box and the new Madden NFL 2012 that had just come out. My daughter could resume texting her friends and pick up the books at the high school she would be starting in the fall. My wife could go to her studio to get a piece ready for an exhibition. And I could get back to work.

But the people of Phoenicia and the surrounding area are still waiting for electricity, still waiting for the roads to be repaired and assessing the damage to their homes. An economically struggling region has taken another hit. Labor Day is a wash.