Building for the Next Storm

Text and photos by Nate Eldon / Winter 2025

With another big coastal low-pressure system approaching from the northeast—and the editorial staff of Cape May Magazine begging me to actually make a deadline—the subject of building for storm resistance is on my mind. As I write this in October, it’s been 13 years since Superstorm Sandy changed the landscape in so many ways. October just seems to be the month for these things. The “Perfect Storm” hit off the coast of the Canadian Atlantic provinces in late October 1991. This is the season when the big coastal systems catch us off guard—though by now, they really shouldn’t.

We saw it back in August when Hurricane Erin passed well out in the Atlantic but sent in swells that lined up with big tides and strong onshore winds. The back bays filled, and water pushed into our streets and low-lying areas.

A raised cottage in Cape May originally built in the late 1920s. The original house had massive structural deficiencies. The crew rebuilt the roof as it was originally with modern-sized structural members. Blueskin self-adhesive weather barrier was used to keep the weather out while exposed to the elements. Note the height of the building is much taller than originally intended.

As I mentioned in my last article, Cape May and the surrounding communities sit in a precarious place. Geologically, we’re little more than a sandbar between prehistoric rivers. It becomes obvious every time a full-moon tide meets a low-pressure system and an east wind. We see water on the roads and in the yards.

Building on sand is worth talking about, too. Sand is a great base to build on—right up until it moves. It shifts, washes, and disappears. Just last week, videos from the Outer Banks showed large pile-supported houses collapsing into the Atlantic.

Why We Build for Resilience Now

Good building in a coastal environment comes down to two things: resistance and resilience. Builders on this cape and others have learned what works and what doesn’t after storms have tested our work for decades. Over time, those lessons found their way into the building codes. The best builders of the past didn’t need a codebook to tell them how to build strong, but modern politics and the insurance industry now make it mandatory.

Construction in Cape May has changed dramatically over the years. Most of the early structures were simple summer cottages and fishing shacks, never meant for year-round use. Today these are part of full communities with year-round homes, businesses, schools, and events. The homes we build and renovate now are designed not just to last, but to withstand what the coast throws at them. As more than just fishing shacks, they come with mortgages, flood insurance, and the rules that accompany them.

The turning point for the insurance industry came with Hurricane Andrew in 1992. It was one of the costliest disasters the United States had seen, and it exposed massive flaws in both construction and regulation. A late friend of mine, an engineer working in Florida at the time, saw it firsthand—one neighborhood would lose a few shingles, while the next block over was leveled. The difference came down to basic craftsmanship and connection details. The insurance industry stepped in to mandate better practices to protect homeowners—and, of course, their own bottom line. Hardware manufacturers like Simpson Strong-Tie rode that wave of change as their products became standard in the trade.

Superstorm Sandy brought big changes for us in New Jersey. We’d weathered plenty of storms before, but Sandy forced a reckoning. After the massive payouts, FEMA and private insurers redrew the flood maps and expanded high-risk “velocity” and “flood” zones, requiring more stringent standards for anything built within them.

A blend of modern and historic building materials join in a renovation at 12 South Broadway

The most lasting change after Sandy—many others were later revised or rolled back—was the introduction of Base Flood Elevation (BFE) and Design Flood Elevation (DFE) as hard baselines. BFE is the height floodwaters are expected to reach during a “hundred-year flood,” a storm with a one-percent chance of happening in any given year. It’s the benchmark FEMA and local codes use to determine how high homes must be built to reduce risk and qualify for insurance.

DFE is the actual target height we build to—the BFE plus a cushion for the unknowns. That “freeboard” provides a margin of safety for bigger storms, shifting tides, and rising seas. These numbers vary by municipality and FEMA zone, but for example: a Zone AE in Cape May typically carries a BFE of about eight feet above NAVD88 (sea-level datum) and a DFE of at least 10 feet—at minimum two feet of freeboard from the ground to the top of the lowest habitable floor.

When the Rules Meet Reality

All those rules make sense on paper, but here’s where they meet reality. For a lot of homeowners in Cape May, the push for storm-resistant building comes with a tough trade-off. The new rules don’t just apply to new construction—they catch people who simply want to improve what they already have.

Under the city’s 40-percent rule, if the cost of a renovation or repair equals 40 percent or more of the home’s assessed value, the project is considered a substantial improvement. Once that line is crossed, the house must be brought up to modern flood standards. That usually means raising the structure to the Design Flood Elevation—the Base Flood Elevation plus two feet of freeboard—and lifting every mechanical and utility line out of harm’s way.

The state rule is 50 percent, but Cape May and other coastal towns lowered it to 40 to improve their FEMA Community Rating and, in turn, reduce insurance premiums for residents. It’s a smart move on paper, but it creates real-world problems. Rebuilds and house raises are expensive, and many older homes weren’t designed to be lifted. Owners get stuck between protecting what they have and being forced into upgrades that can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

It’s especially tricky here, where so many of the old Victorians and cottages give the town its identity. Most of those homes were built well for their time—higher off the ground, framed with old-growth lumber that’s stronger than anything you can buy today. But when you lift a 140-year-old house another two feet, you change its proportions. Stairs get longer, porches sit higher, and the relationship between the house and the street starts to feel off. We all want Cape May to be resilient, but there’s no ignoring that every elevation shifts its look a little further from the town we’re trying to preserve.

After the Storm

Thankfully, this mid-October storm came and went without much lasting damage. We had the usual flooded streets, high winds, and a few battered boats—but it wasn’t a storm we’ll be telling stories about. Still, every storm, big or small, leaves a mark. The wind peels a little paint, the sand shifts around some more, and we’re reminded that living here means staying ready.

For builders, that means designing for the next one before it arrives. For homeowners, it’s the small rituals—clearing drains, checking sump pumps, stacking sandbags. Cape May has always rebounded quickly, but each cleanup is a quiet dress rehearsal for something larger.

And yet, it’s still worth it. Storms are the price of living somewhere beautiful. You can’t have the calm without the occasional chaos. Every nor’easter tests our patience, but it also renews our respect for this place—for the dunes, the marshes, the sea, and the old homes that have stood through worse. Building here has taught me that perfection isn’t the goal; endurance is. The coastline will keep shifting, the codes will keep changing, and the storms will keep coming. But so will we.