Sunday, June 28, 1998 - Tornados

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Today as we were walking home from church, Caleb suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, Daddy!  You ran over a porcupine and squished it!”

Larry looked at him blankly, wondering what in the world brought that on.

“Right there!” declared Caleb, pointing.

There on the driveway lay a flattened pine cone.

My flowers are all blooming like anything, and they’d look really pretty, if somebody would just pull the weeds.  One afternoon we cut some pansies, a columbine, a blue-fringed daisy, and a butterfly flower, put them into a tiny blue delft vase, and took it to my mother.

Evidently, lots of our friends had had the same idea—Mama’s table was already covered with a myriad of vases, large and small, with a variety of colorful flowers.  Mama laughed when she saw the vase in my hand.  “More flowers?” she said, moving other vases to make room for the new one.

While we were there, a cardinal, a goldfinch, several house finches, a blackbird, a dove, and a chickadee came to her big window feeder.  Mama’s little parakeet took a real shine to the cardinal; it promptly began showing off, climbing all over the cage, swinging upside down, and industriously attempting to put his hanging bell through the hoop on the swing.  When the bell slid back out for the fifth time, the bird spread its wings and squawked scoldingly at it.

Tuesday evening, just about the time we got our super-duper tacos all loaded up and overflowing, the tornado sirens went off.  We’d been listening to the weather reports on our scanner all through the afternoon, and we’d been expecting bad weather, so we weren’t surprised.   

While the sirens screamed, we got ourselves in gear and cleaned Hester and Lydia’s bedroom from top to bottom.  Larry put new pipes and shower head in the downstairs shower.  Six more storms like that, and we’ll have our entire basement in order.

(Six more storms like that, and we might not have a house.)

The trees were being blown about wildly by the wind, and the sky was full of strange grayish-green clouds that were beginning to swirl in ever-narrowing circles.  Several fingers dropped down menacingly, then lifted.  The worst part of the storm, however, moved to the northwest part of town and on out into the country, where a long, crooked, mean-looking tail came spiraling down, leaving a path of destruction half a mile wide and at least thirty miles long.  Several farms were destroyed, and many crops ruined.

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The next day, we went for a drive to see the demolition.  We saw a totally wrecked barn… a corn crop sheered off at ground level… trees totally stripped.  There was a totally bare hill, acres wide, where just 18 hours before was a healthy cornfield.  A power pole lay in the middle of it.  Just over the hill, a field and grove were spared.  Isn’t it odd how a tornado picks and chooses its route?  It almost looked like it had followed the exact edge of one cornfield. 

In another area, the twister must not have touched clear down in a valley, but just cleaned off the tops of the tallest trees.

We drove by the Schreiber farm.  All the barns and one silo are gone; and the front half of the upstairs of their house was ripped off.  Many of their belongings were sucked right out of the house, and much of what was left was damaged beyond repair.  The mother and daughters made it to the basement with only minutes to spare; the father, who’d been out working in the field, took shelter in a neighbor’s house.  One daughter got a cut on her foot that required stitches; otherwise, no one was hurt.

At a farm about five miles away, a two-story house was lifted from its foundation, turned 90°, and slammed back down so hard the entire first story was shattered to bits.  A basement wall fell on the people who were taking refuge downstairs, and the lady, who was trapped for a time under all that heavy debris, wound up with several broken ribs.

A canceled check from that particular farm landed in a little town in Iowa the next day, 110 miles east of us.

Many cars were parked along the road and lane leading to the farmhouse; friends and neighbors and relatives had arrived to help clean up. 

Nearby is the Long Branch tavern, which was severely damaged.  A man and his wife were coming down the road when they saw that tornado coming straight at them.  They sped into the parking lot, leapt from their car, and ran for the door of the bar.  The husband made it.

The wife was not so fortunate.  She was three feet from the door when the twister hit.  Wrapping her arms around a pole, she hung on for dear life.  Pieces of wood and metal were hitting her from all sides, but, amazingly enough, she was only scratched and bruised.

But how do you like that husband?  Every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.

I asked Larry, “Would you have left me out there to root, hog, or die??”

And he said, said he, “Nope!  I’d’ve grabbed you by the hair and drug you in, if I’d’ve had to!” 

I pinched him.

“YeeooOW!”  (That was Larry.) 

“Hahahaha!”  (Those were several attentive youngsters.)

The following night, a tornado went through the Santee Indian Reservation, which is just south of the South Dakota border.

Some neighbors of ours had a yard sale, and we finally found something for which we’d been looking for a good long while: a high chair for Victoria.  Our old one was oak, probably not too comfortable for a baby, and the tray didn’t latch just right.  This high chair is plastic, with a large tray and a padded seat.  Victoria was so excited, she did a little jig while we scrubbed it good and proper.

“Chair?!” she inquired at regular intervals.  “Sit down?”

When we finished washing it, I picked her up and put her into it.  She giggled in pleased delight.  “Num-num?” she asked. “Drink?”—this, is spite of the fact that she’d only just finished eating, and was really quite full.  We put a handful of cheerios on the tray and let her sit there and eat them, just to give her the satisfaction of eating in her new highchair.

Thursday was Lydia’s seventh birthday.  We gave her three new dresses, a little resin German Shepherd puppy, an 11x14 framed portrait of a Sharpei, a pair of bright blue sandals, a stuffed leopard, a dog sticker book filled with cute pictures of puppies, and a little fuchsia metal ‘suitcase’, complete with keys to lock it.  Lawrence and Norma came over after Jr. Choir, bringing angel food  cake, pumpkin cake with cream cheese frosting, ice cream, and a doll that crawls along, falls flat, squalls loudly, and then, in an abrupt change of attitude, says sweetly, “Mama, mama.”

Lydia was delighted.  “Oh!!” she breathed, “this is just exactly what I wanted.”

My mother gave her a couple of Laura Ingalls Wilder books, some money, and a disposable camera.  Several of her little friends brought presents, too; so Lydia had an enjoyable birthday.

Hannah made five dozen banana muffins with a crunchy topping of oats, brown sugar, and butter.  We gave some to the Jr. Choir kids, and valiantly ate all the rest ourselves (except for a few we generously shared with friends or relatives that happened to pass by at opportune times).

Thursday night Teddy, Joseph, and Caleb slept outside in their tent.  Caleb rolled around so vigorously, he kept waking up his brothers; so by Friday night, Teddy and Joseph were getting rather goggle-eyed.

One evening we went to my nephew David’s house and watched a video about tornadoes, including one he took himself, Tuesday evening.  Goodness!  That was scary!  A television crew wound up clinging for their lives to the underside of an overpass as a tornado roared furiously over them.  They saw semis, vans, and cars rolling madly down the road, some, end-over-end, left in nothing but scrunched heaps—and there were people in them.  Nobody was killed, however.

That same evening, Dorcas went for a bike ride with Esther, and they visited David, too.  (You’ll recall, David’s wife Christine is Esther’s oldest sister.)

Esther has been working for a travel agency, but they sold out to new owners who wanted to bring in their own people.  Esther’s old boss wrote a glowing letter of recommendation for her, and she is now looking for a new job.

I finished Bobby’s shirt, did a pile of mending, and then wrote out all my Christmas cards and put lots of pictures in them.  Now I’m sewing a skirt for Hester and a top for Dorcas.

Dorcas is crocheting an afghan with alternating squares of dark rose mauve and white.  Hannah is making a three-dimensional doily of pink and fuchsia variegated roses, green variegated border, and ivory lace.  Hester and Lydia are crocheting granny-square afghans with their new yarn and crochet hooks that Hannah and Bobby gave them for their birthdays.

Caleb and Joseph are playing with the ‘Columbus Auto Sales’ shop Teddy made; Keith is making a wooden spoon holder for Dorcas’ spoon collection (it will be her birthday present); and Victoria is making loud smacking noises as she feeds her dolly a bottle.  Teddy is putting Benedryl spray on the poison ivy rash he acquired on his back and arm and, worse, between his fingers, while mowing weeds for a friend of ours; and Larry is making an aromatic pot of coffee to share with me.

P.S.:  Remember that nice farm north of town you were planning to move into?  (I sent you a picture of the barn.)  (It leaned a wee bit.)  (And the roof was missing a few molecules.)  Well, unpack your bags.  Bad news.  The tornado took it out.  I mean, the ground is bare.  There is absolutely nothing left.  Nary a rafter, nor a board, nor a shingle.  Nothing!  Nada!  Nyet!  Swept clean, ’tis.