In memory of all those whose lives were taken
by tornados.
Prayers for those who have survived
and wondered why they had been so lucky.
Fifty years ago today, the community in which I now live, suffered several F4 tornados. Left behind was a terrible path of death and destruction. Twenty-five percent of the community was leveled.
We were living on the East Coast at the time and knew
nothing of this awful day. Folks living on either coast sometimes refer to
the Midwest as a flyover zone. However, these destructive tornados
apparently had not heard this was flyover territory. The community was changed forever. People rebuilt their homes and their businesses - and rebuilt their lives. But the memories are etched in their minds.
Five years ago, we had our own tornado experience. We were
returning home after some vacation time south of us. “In the eye of the storm”
usually means an eerie stillness at the center of turbulance. Not this time! We
were at the epicenter of fierce weather sweeping across southeastern Minnesota. It was
anything but still.
Our first indication of bad weather came as we traveled
north on the freeway through northern Iowa in late afternoon. Clouds began to darken the sky west of
us. Two trucks passed us, somewhere in size between a small semi and a
large 4-wheel drive pickup. Behind their cabs were satellite dishes - labeled Atmospheric Research. Our eyes widened. The trucks were followed by an SUV labeled Storm Watchers.
Wow!
This is just like a NOVA program on PBS. And we were in the middle of it! When the trucks left the freeway to
veer northeast, we let out a deep breath and relaxed. Whatever was going on would not pose a threat to us
– or so we thought. We were tired and ready to be home. We had no desire to be in the middle of some storm system.
We continued homeward, eager to unload our van and settle in. But the ominous clouds to the west darkened into a thick bank. Little
fingers dipped down from it, as if checking out the ground below. The growing black
monster in the sky slowly swallowed up these hooked fingers - a dance like a
choreographed ballet. As we crossed the border into Minnesota, torrential rain
began. Hail pelted the countryside, sounding like rocks hitting our vehicle.
We sought refuge under a bridge with other cars and trucks - wondering how much damage our poor van was sustaining. The rain abruptly stopped. Then the radio began reporting tornado funnels and touchdowns. We apprehensively eased
back onto the freeway.
The tentative fingers reaching down from the black monster now were more assertive.
Definitely there were tornados forming west of us. I dug through the glove compartment for a detailed map of
familiar home territory - while the radio broadcast a continuous stream of
weather information.
Touchdowns were reported near Albert Lea and moving
northeast. Torrential rain began again, this time harder. Visibility was almost zero. We pulled over with
other cars and trucks onto the shoulder. More touchdowns were reported near the small towns of Geneva, Hope, and Bixby.
Our hope was that the weather system would continue moving northeast ahead of us and across the freeway. Emergency vehicles periodically
appeared - red and blue lights were spots in the growing darkness.
Ambulances, state troopers, fire trucks . . .
The intensity of the rain grew, along with the wind. Out my
window I looked down at grasses bent flat to the ground in the wind. The
radio warned vehicles and people to stay out from under bridges. Go to your
basements – but our basement was far ahead of us on the freeway. Be alert for
flash floods.
Get out of your vehicles and into ditches. We looked at each other. If we got into a ditch, we likely would drown – because the ditches were filled with water to their brims.
Get out of your vehicles and into ditches. We looked at each other. If we got into a ditch, we likely would drown – because the ditches were filled with water to their brims.
Neither of us voiced our fears out-loud that we might die in this storm. The only thing we could do was continue inching down the freeway with others caught in this frightening weather. I watched the map closely as we listened to radio reports of touchdowns. Unwittingly, we had become amateur storm chasers!
When we saw the sunset trying to break through the darkness, it was like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. And we were alive - not dead! We began to relax tense
muscles and increased our speed. It had taken us over two and a half hours to travel less than sixty miles.
We were among the lucky ones this time. Home never looked so good - with moonlight streaming through the windows!
