My farm...Mira, Talisman, Debonaire in the pasture. C. Berg
The sky turned purple as the sun behind storm clouds set tonight. The air was heavy all day today. I did my chores, and went around taking picture records of the spring that has finally decided to open up to the grace of daffodils and red-buds.
Layers of moist air give added depth to the landscape. An occasional rumble sends my little dog Chloe shivering under my feet. Nothing seems certain, just a few drips of rain, and the garage floor uniformly damp, a sure sign of high humidity.
I walk down the tree-lined lane in black calf-length painters pants and flip flops, or thongs, as we used to call them before the word was stolen by wanna be strippers' panties. My part-setter Mieka and Jack Russell Chloe are bounding ahead of me, clearing the path of seven deer who flash white tails at me, and a pair of mallard ducks who will never nest here now.
Mieka and Chloe are thrilled to be loose and accompanying me to the barn. This is their job; the highlight of their day. They run up the hill, trying to be the first into the tack room in case they can surprise the raccoon who steals Lilly's catfood if I leave the pet door open past twilight. (Chloe actually caught him/her at it last week and got in a nip before he got her, and I made them quit attacking the wild critter.)
I don't like raccoons in my barn. They carry EPM, a deadly nerve disease that has already effected two of my horses, one of which died. I hope the dogs scare them away.
Walking up the hill to the barn, I pass my horses grazing with a vengance tearing the new grass. The hay this winter was horrible due to the rain and flooding last year. All five are showing their ribs in spite of our supplementing them with several pounds of a pelleted grain feed twice daily.
The soft wind has stopped. There is an unreal yellowish light in the air. It is just like the light from that summer day in 1956 Kansas when we watched from a distance while as many as three tornados cut a path miles wide from Garnett to Ruskin Heights, killing 39 people.
A loud scream pierces the evening as the first air-raid sirens of the season whistle into a pulsing whine. I automatically search the sky for signs of the wall cloud that will snake a tornado into my little animal kingdom. None. I even see a little bit of extra light to the southwest, the normal direction tornadoes come from. Nothing now, but time to get a move on.
I hurry, calling the horses to the barn. They all five gallop up the hill and bicker over the open stall doors pushing each other out according to their pecking order. I splash feed into each corner bucket, then go into the stall, closing the lower stall door for safety. Horses are more likely to be hit by a close strike of lightening or injured by hurtling branches from winds than to be struck by a tornado. Besides, I don't see one. The light is right, the weather is uncertain, but it isn't black enough yet, and there is no wall cloud.
The dogs and I take a short cut across the pasture. I hear a plaintive meowing behind me. I stop and turn around, seeing my grey Abbysinean, Lilly, following me. I don't want to leave her out with a storm approaching, though she seems to have no animal instinct that there could be danger. I pick her up, holding her struggling body tight and petting her while I get her into the house. Stupid dogs are running ahead, and I get Lilly in and have to go back for them!
The sirens are off now. I turn on the local network that broadcasts storm emergencies with doppler radar, and sure enough, there it is. Tornadoes. The first report is that one has been sited just ten miles north of here, on Highway 13 near Coggon. Warnings are over the three county area. The weather man and I look at the doppler radar for tell-tale signs of the hook signaling the circular winds making a vortex. There it is. Another has been sited west of Alburnette. Then another in Central City. The weatherman says that he knows sirens have gone off in Cedar Rapids, but there is no need to seek immediate shelter there, since the sited tornados are to the north, with the main part of this storm missing us.
I wait until I see the actual cloud before I head for the basement with all of my kids and pets. This comes from fifty years experiencing "false alarms." My daughter, N., says she still has nightmares about not being able to get me into the basement with a tornado bearing down on me. I say (in the dream), "I just have to do one more thing...take the horses in...find my purse..."
The tornado pictures start coming in over the email to Channel 9. It is a real tornado, the long snake dropping from the wall cloud. People all over town have caught it on digital and cell phone cameras. It doesn't look that scary. One of the employees of KCRG is in Central City, where there is a rumor the tornado has hit the Wapsi-Pinnekon campground. Pictures come up of rubble. Campers ran to the nearby shelter, leaving their doomed RVs. The six campers were safe, but one dog died.
The weather in our state is dramatic. And it is unstoppable. We can prepare for it, but we can't fight it. We just have to remember to bring all of our friends to the shelter...I'm so sorry for the family that lost their dog to the storm. They will be sad tonight for the loss of their camper, but more so for the loss of their little friend and companion.
April 26th Tornado, by David Martin, one photographer of tonight's storm. KCRG website.
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
thatdamnbob
Steve Blevins
Lunchlady 2
Walk Away
john blumenthal
Verbal Remedy
Salon.com
Comments
This was so wonderfully written that I felt as if I was walking with you.
things I don't miss living here
Spent a week in Texas as a little boy and four days on a Road trip playing baseball. We never saw rain or clouds. I did note that the ball's carried farther when hit than they did up north, but had a pal who lived there and told me about the Tornado's. I have experienced them in Illinois, but never out west in New Mexico or Montana.
Hey MAWB! Usually you get them first, then send them on to us. I HAVE to get some red shoes!
Brian, It's always something. If not tornadoes, then earthquakes or blizzards.
Hi Ed, Your hurricanes are pretty bad, though they are definitely more predictable. Tornadoes...not so much. What worries me is that we are having more of them, and more severe weather with global warming.
Prof, You're missing out if you haven't seen a tornado. I saw six of them surrounding me while driving in Nebraska many years ago. They often just touch down, and don't stay on the ground. Severe damage is the exception rather than the rule.
Glad you are all ok and that the tornado avoided you! Our closest call with a tornado since moving to NE came while I was out in the barn doing the evening feeding. The sirens in town never went off, and I didn't even know there was a tornado until people at work the next day started asking me what we did during the tornado...what tornado?!
First, oh my, your farm is beautiful. It really makes me want to move to Iowa.
Second, damn, I've been through this. I know what you mean. The animals get secured first, and then myself. Cats are especially difficult to corral in the event of a problem. I'm glad you're okay.
Worse is the hail that likes to come with them, especially if you’re in a tree-free zone.
HB, Thank you! That light is one thing you never forget. Or the twister snaking down from the cloud. Glad you came by.
NFJ, It is pretty darn exciting living with these storms that are becoming more severe along with more frequent as the climate freaks out with global warming. I have gone from being afraid of tornadoes, and having them as the subject of recurring nightmares, to wanting to become a tornado chaser. I will never become blasé about them.
Odette, Thank you so much! Iowa is quite beautiful, even in stormy weather. You should come! And, yep, herding cats is the worst. They just don’t appreciate being shut up with a bunch of people and dogs in the basement bathroom! At one time we had FIVE cats to round up. Drove the kids nuts, looking for them and rounding them up.
Teddy, Thanks so much for coming by! Animals (and my kids) are so central to my life, too. I was so sad for the people who lost the doggie. I really wished I knew more about it, but that would probably make me sadder. The RV campers were totally flat with a wheel sticking up here and there, and some matchstick pieces sticking out at odd angles. It was a disaster! The people were lucky to have made it to the shelter. I just wish they had been able to get their dog in too.
I spent my entire youth in Oklahoma and remember clearly the foreboding signs of impending tornadoes, the yellow sky and the still moist air. I remember too, the tornado approaching so closely to our house time and time again, turning the sky from yellow to purplish green, smelling like chlorophyll from the thousands of tree leaves battered by the golf ball-sized and often larger hail.
I personally find the storms invigorating in sort of a perverted way, feeling the energy in the air, but then I was never unfortunate to have lost more than shingles, a swamp cooler, some hammer-sized dents in the car and a few windows.
At 19 I moved to California. Now there’s something I could never grow accustomed to – earthquakes, big ones or little ones. No warning of impending danger as with tornadoes, all is normal, then in an instant, all hell is loosed. My wife (born and raised in CA) had many chuckles at my expense.
Then we were transferred to Great Bend Kansas for a year. The chuckles were mine to enjoy then. Such sweet poetic justice.
I'm glad you escaped once again. Your place looks enchanting. I miss the country.
Perhaps in the wide swath of mid-western prairie, we should all live in earth sheltered homes and barns. Alas, I live in California, where I must be content with the raw, unfettered, magnificent power of earthquakes. Earth sheltered just wouldn't work here.
Love your writing. A big, skyward pointed thumb for you.
Mandi, You remember more than I do about that. I don’t think we made it to Washington IA that time. It is quite a thrill to experience tornadoes. We’ve probably seen too many “Storm Chaser” videos, but I still can’t help it. Before doppler radar, the only way to watch for tornados was to actually stay outside on your porch, or in the driveway and literally ‘watch.’ That’s how I grew up. And yes, we can still go chasing!
David, Ah California....a Midwestern transplant. I love California. There is a freedom in having no weather, but I would miss it too. But when I’m here, I miss the ocean and the beach. I could sit on the beach for hours. I would love it. But no rain? I’d hate that. We never have to irrigate here at all. We just hope we don’t drown out the little plants in our gardens and fields.
Bob, Storms are invigorating, as you say. I would probably have anxiety dreams about earthquakes. Storms, as you say, generally give warning. It is interesting how many Midwesterners are transplanted to California. Even now, if you want to get away from everything Midwest, or begin a new life, you always “move to California,” just like it was the Moon. I like knowing that there are people in California with a common ground. I do love the countryside, which is probably why I stay here.
Thanks for stopping by!
Brinna, How wonderful that you appreciate tornadoes! The power is awesome, and can be frightening. I admit, when the wind is snapping the trees, and twirling their branches in a wild insane dance, my heart jumps into my throat. It just takes one direct hit, and it can happen here.
Thanks for the compliment, and for checking out the Midwestern tornado scene.