'We all keep track of the tide'

By Lauren Chain and Rinesa Jakupi

HULL — The water didn’t rush in all at once — it crept.

Standing in his kitchen, Peter Dewey would watch it climb the basement stairs. Six steps. Seven. With each passing minute, the water rose higher.

Every storm, he tracked how high it reached, marking the advance of the ocean as it pushed closer to the top step leading into his kitchen. It once came within two steps, or about 12-feet high.

“There’s one thing to hear about flooding,” said Dewey, 73, who has survived storms in this coastal peninsula south of Boston for more than 30 years. “There’s another thing to live through it.”

Along much of the state’s coast, rising sea levels and stronger storm surges are turning homes into zones of repeated loss and costly repairs. 

In Hull, even small shifts in tides and wind patterns can mean the difference between a close call and thousands of dollars in damage.

Sea levels along the Massachusetts coast have already risen 11 inches since 1921. Data for Boston from 1970 onward show an additional rise of about eight inches, according to data compiled in the U.S Sea Level Change Database, a federal resource that brings together information from multiple agencies to track changes in the coastal water levels.

Flooding has also become more frequent. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) Tides and Currents data show that Boston now experiences up to 19 days of high tide flooding each year — up from an average of about five days per year in the early 2000s. Projections show that this trend is expected to accelerate, with Boston projected to experience between 50 and 70 flood days annually by 2050 under intermediate sea-level rise scenarios. 

For Dewey, the increased flooding means more water in his basement and mounting financial strain.

Storm-related damage in Boston alone could reach $100 billion by 2100, according to a 2024 report from the U.S Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), which draws on state-level and national climate risk data. 

For Dewey, the increased flooding means more water in his basement and mounting financial strain.

Storm-related damage in Boston alone could reach $100 billion by 2100, according to a 2024 report from the U.S Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), which draws on state level and national climate risk data. But the consequences extend beyond property damage. Repeated flooding can disrupt access to medical care, delay emergency services, and create unsafe living conditions in homes, including power loss and mold exposure. 

Deaths in flood-affected communities are often linked to chronic health conditions like heart and respiratory disease, which can worsen when access to care is disrupted and living conditions become unsafe. Flooding is also associated with  higher rates of anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress, even a year after an event, according to the 2022 Massachusetts Climate Change Assessment. As sea levels continue to rise, these risks are expected to intensify. 

In Hull, efforts to address flooding — and its public health impacts — are already underway. 

The Hampton Circle neighborhood is being used as a pilot for resilience strategies outlined in the town’s Climate Adaptation Roadmap. One approach is “living shorelines,” a nature-based method that stabilizes coastal edges using natural materials like plants, oyster shells, and rock barriers. These features help absorb wave energy and reduce erosion.  

For Christian Krahforst, director of Hull’s Climate Adaptation and Conservation Department, the dangers to Hull aren’t hypothetical.  

“We’re experiencing a good deal of climate change impacts today,” he said. The town, he added, is racing to “figure out what do we do about that — and how do we plan for the near and not so distant future.” 

Krahforst said Hull’s geography makes it especially exposed. “It’s a barrier island system facing the North Atlantic,” he said. “Most of the town is in the floodplain,” meaning rising seas and stronger storms will only make the town more vulnerable.

Dewey grew up far from the coast in Millis.  In 1993, after his mother moved to the South Shore town Cohasset, he decided to move closer to her and bought a house in nearby Hull for $84,000. 

Twelve months later, his house flooded. “I was new to the whole idea of flooding,” said Dewey. “I didn’t know what to do or how to be ready.”

He learned the hard way. That first storm had several feet of water surging down his street, destroying two of the four cars he has lost to flooding over the years, along with his furnace, hot water heater, and nearly everything stored in the basement.

As he learned how to adapt, the flooding continued. 

“For the first 10 to 15 years, it was nearly every year,” he said. “Some are worse than others.” Over the years, with destroyed appliances, lost vehicles, and other damage, Dewey estimates he has spent some $100,000 on repairs and replacements.

He raised his appliances and created a system to prepare before each storm. He rewired much of his home’s electrical system and moved his breaker box as high as he could. After the damage, what remained, he said, “was junk.” He even concocted a string-pulling system to keep his power on as long as possible. What once felt unpredictable became routine.

Eventually, after years of repeated flooding, and a house fire that destroyed his home and claimed the life of his labradoodle, Beethoven, Dewey rebuilt. His new modular house now sits 14-feet above ground. It was designed specifically to withstand storms.“I did everything I could,” he said. “Now it feels solid.” 

Still, he remains keenly aware of the tides. 

“It’s when the storm hits at high tide — that’s the problem,” he said. “Everybody who lives on the water, we all keep track of the tide.” 

Light shifts in wind direction can push water from shore or drive it directly into town. Over the years, the flooding has worsened. “Since I’ve lived here, the tides have gotten higher and higher,” he said. “We’re seeing surges three or four feet higher than it was 10 years ago — even in an average storm.” 

The town’s aging seawall, built in the early 1900s, offered little protection. During storms, water poured through visible gaps and cracks.

A section of the deteriorating old sea wall in Hull that developed holes and cracks. PHOTO/TOM GORMAN, 2024

After major storms, ocean debris is increasingly scattered across the neighborhood. The bigger the storm, the more it brings: lobster traps, rocks, wood, and beach sand spread across backyards and into the streets.

“If you looked out the window, you could just see the holes [in the old] seawall,” he said. “It just kept getting beat down.” 

That's beginning to change. Over the past two years, with support from state and federal grants, the town has built a $15.6 million new seawall along Nantasket Avenue. Spanning roughly 1,675 feet, the new structure is both higher and wider than the old one. Its climate resilient features include road elevation changes and a rain garden to help reduce flooding. It was completed in March.

Cathy Cornell, a longtime family friend, said Dewey’s decision to stay reflects his resilience and deep ties to the town.

“He’s been through a lot with his house, but I think he’s committed to stay — come hell or high water,” she said. 

His decision to stay despite the risks reflects a growing challenge that coastal communities are having to face. Another solution gaining attention is “managed retreat,” the coordinated relocation of people and infrastructure out of high-risk areas. But moving a community is not simply a matter of geography; it can mean the loss of social networks, cultural identity, and access to local resources. 

Despite the improvements to his home and the seawall, the risk remains. During a blizzard in February, Dewey found himself worrying not about his home but about his chickens.

With the chance of flooding, he moved them into his basement, building a makeshift pen out of plywood to keep them safe — another routine adjustment in a life shaped by unpredictable water. 

When asked why he stays, he said the very thing that threatens him the most is what keeps him there. 

“I love the ocean,” he said. “There are so many good days. You forget the bad ones.”

Lauren Chain is a graduate journalism student and an environmental reporter at Boston University. You can reach her at laurenchain@gmail.com.  Rinesa Jakupi is a rising senior at BU majoring in human physiology, on the pre-medicine track. You can reach her at rjakupi@bu.edu.