Tryin' to reason with tornado season

“Well, the wind is blowin' harder now
Fifty knots or thereabouts
There's white caps on the ocean
And I'm watchin' for waterspouts” ~ Jimmy Buffett; Tryin’ to Reason with Hurricane Season

Three-quarters of the year or so I spend much of my time daydreaming about living in the Southeast. I’ve had an attachment to the Sunshine State in-particular since I was 9 years-old, and not only because it’s where Walt Disney World is located. Although I admit that is a big part of it. I love palm trees and lizards and the idea of ocean only a short drive in either direction. However, this is that rare time of year when I DON’T envy all my friends living down in Florida. And the news the last couple days is reiterating that feeling.

Not that we don’t get our share of rough weather here in the Midwest, especially in the summer. Summer brings heat and humidity and with it, the very real threat of tornadoes dropping out of the clouds with little warning. In an earlier blog post I mentioned how my youngest daughter was not a fan of mine the first month of her life, and it was only after an "act of God" that she and I found peace. It was in late-June, only four short years ago.

My wife had taken the two older kids to her sister’s house about an hour north of us for a day of swimming and frolicking. I’m not a fan of public pools and volunteered to stay home with the baby who was on a strict nap schedule and didn’t need to be out in the hot sun anyway. In truth I just wanted to spend a Sunday planted on the couch. Early that afternoon I was doing just that, lounging on the sofa watching a movie while the baby napped. I wasn’t even paying attention to the scene just outside the patio door a few feet away, until I noticed some strange movement from the corner of my eye.

If you have kids, you’re probably familiar with the red and yellow Little Tikes Cozy Coupe. It’s every child’s first car. I suddenly became aware that my kids’ Coupe was flying across the cement patio just outside the door. I thought “well that’s peculiar.” Then I also noticed the sky had gone from sunny and blue to a muddy shade of green, and our neighbors' trees were currently sideways. I flipped over to the regular television in time to hear the Emergency Broadcast System finishing a sentence with “. . . hurricane force winds” followed by my county and “get to the shelter of a basement.” I clicked it off and bolted upstairs, grabbing the sleeping baby (who would be pissed at me, but what else was new?)

I headed down into our cold, concrete basement and held her tight in the corner as what little light usually crept in the subterranean windows faded to darkness. The rain was coming down in sheets so loud I could hear it hitting the roof, three levels above. I thought to myself “as long as we don’t lose power, we’ll be okay.” No sooner did I finish that thought then everything went dead. The lights. The air conditioning unit. Everything. Welcome to the stone age. I rushed over to the corner of the basement and peered into the sump pump using my phone as a flashlight, holding the still sleeping (thank God) baby in my free hand. The water level was surprisingly low. We had time before I really needed to worry. If that thing overflowed, I’d have a real problem. If the rain continued, the basement would flood. No question.

That’s when water in the basement fell a few rungs on the ladder of my concerns. It suddenly sounded like a locomotive was rushing through our backyard. You don’t hear a tornado – you feel it in your soul, and it’s terrifying. Especially when you’re standing in a dark basement clutching a newborn to your chest, with no clue where the rest of your family is at the moment.  I could feel the ground vibrating below me. Thoughts flood your brain like “what if this isn’t the safest spot in the house? What if the whole house collapses on top of us?”
I’ve grown up my whole life seeing horrific news footage of post-tornado devastation here in my own state. Plus, I’ve seen Twister about a hundred times. That’s when my daughter woke up and began to cry, not happy to find herself out of her crib and in the clutches of the hairy one! I tried my best to be calm and comforting, even though there was nobody to do the same for me. Those are the moments you regret any immature ounce frustration or resentment you ever felt toward those little ones for waking you in the night, spitting up on you, or keeping you from any semblance of a social life. You are once again reminded they are all that matters to you. Those are also the moments you find yourself trying to negotiate with your maker.  

Thankfully, while it felt like an eternity, it wasn’t but a minute or two before the rumbling and howling was gone. The pitch black at the top of the basement windows gave way to green, and then gray as a little light found its way down to us again. I breathed a deep sigh. Then rain began pelting the windows again. I looked back into the sump pump. The water was literally kissing the edges of the tank. Panicked, I looked around for anywhere to put the baby since I hadn't thought to grab her carrier. I grabbed a Rubbermaid container of hand-me-down clothes and gently placed her in it, surrounded her with a wall of soft pajamas and winter coats. Then I grabbed another, much bigger Rubbermaid; this one filled with Gorilla Blocks we’d bought our son a few years before and he never played with. They’re essentially enormous foam Legos. I dumped them out across the floor and pulled it to the well, along with an empty plastic wastebasket and began bailing water. For a solid ten minutes I stood there hunched over, trying to stay ahead of the rising water before it was covering the linoleum tile.


Eventually the rain stopped and I realized the water level was staying where I’d left it. Thank God, because the giant Rubbermaid was nearly full of brown, leafy water. I went back to my daughter and held her to my chest. This time she didn’t cry. She just snuggled into my neck. We went upstairs where sunlight was now flooding the kitchen. I nervously peered out into the backyard, expecting to see mass devastation. Miraculously all we’d lost was an old wooden privacy fence that had been erected next to the patio. If fact, later my wife would be upset we hadn’t suffered more damage in order get the fence replaced. I put the baby in the stroller and we toured the neighborhood. It seemed impossible we’d been so spared. There were giant trees completely ripped out of the ground, laying on their sides with thick roots in the air. Cars had been hit by heavy branches. Fences were downed all over the place. Neighbors were emerging from their homes, dragging rolled up carpets to the corner, ruined by the flooding. There was marble sized hail all over the grass that had pelted our aluminum siding, as well as my car, yet still no damage.  

To add to the block party, the temperature began steadily rising into the 90’s. Once everyone was home, and I plugged in the generator we’d borrowed from my brother-in-law to get the refrigerator and a couple fans running, I ran to get more fans. We'd need them. By time I got home to our personal sauna, I was greeted by three crying, miserable children and an overwhelmed wife. I loaded all of them into the minivan with instructions to drive to my parents’ house where there were plenty of beds and the central air was cool and crisp. I stayed home to man the generator and protect the homestead (with a baseball bat and steak knife under the pillow – but at least it was something I guess.) By ten o’clock I found myself lying on top of the covers in a pair of shorts, with two fans blowing on me like a modern King Tut. I began chuckling at myself and the situation. Finally, as I drifted off to sleep, the generator ran out of gas. As I began the internal debate about getting up to refill it or wait 'til morning, I zonked out from exhaustion.

In the morning, I woke to a beautiful day. I ran an extension cord from my coffee maker, out the backdoor to the generator on the patio.

Priorities, people.

I headed off to work, as neighbors began to put their houses back in order.  It was ultimately another day before we got power back, and many more days for other neighborhoods in our area. Even the annual Independence Day parade had to be rescheduled.


After that day, the baby and I became best friends. She’s my little peanut. Never cried again when I picked her up, and even now when she falls or her siblings do something that hurts her (real or imagined) she wants Daddy to comfort her. I don’t believe for a moment she remembers a moment of that day, but still, who knows? Maybe it’s somewhere, stored away in her subconscious.

Now every summer, while I welcome the sun and heat, I always get a little concerned when they start showing that cloud & lightning icon on the news. When I was young I loved thunderstorms. Now, as a parent and a homeowner, storms just make me pace nervously. It’s the reason this morning I woke up, took a walk, and made sure to send messages to my friends down in Tampa and Jacksonville who seem to be right in the storm path, making sure everybody’s okay. The A/C is on up here and we’ve got room on the couch, if you need to evacuate for a few.