When I moved here, I had a non-county specific weather radio. If a cow farted in Port Gibson, it would go off — and my blood pressure would go up with it.
I’m not a big fan of tornadoes. I don’t chase them. I run from them.
Which is why living here makes no sense whatsoever for a funnel-cloud coward like me. I know the Great Plains gets more press, but we have as many tornadoes here in Mississippi as anywhere in the U.S. (Per square mile). And we don’t have wide-open spaces to see them coming. They’re like your crazy uncle: They just show up, rumble through the house like a freight train and leave a huge mess behind. And they can show up anytime of year. Sure, spring is the big tornado season. But as we found out last night, they can pop in during the late fall, too. Add to the joy, most of us don’t have basements or storms shelters. We just have a big ol’ target on our backs.
Lucky us.
I used to worry when a tornado would show up in another county. Now I turn on the TV, see that it is only one block away — but headed the other direction — and go back to sleep. I think Katrina made me a little more fatalistic. Anyway, my family has a weather radio, a plan and will execute that plan at a moments notice. Otherwise, I sleep. I’m too tired to worry.
Mississippi will do that. I’ve never lived anywhere were a tornado watch meant, “Pucker up big boy, it’s coming your way.” That’s usually reserved for a WARNING! Why? Because it just isn’t a tornado. It’s the really mind-blowing super-cell thunderstorm that will vomit hail that makes your car look like it had acne or tear up your roof and brings lightning that flickers like a haunted house strobe light. Also your trees try to do the limbo. That’s not natural.
Our weather is the stuff that made Jim Cantore famous. After 20 years of dodging it, I want one of those tornado tanks like Reed Timmer drives.
Severe weather is part of who we are. It shapes us. It defines us. Like I said in my book Chainsaws and Casseroles, before you can crawl out of the wreckage, there will be a church van in your yard full of people with chainsaws and casseroles. When disaster strikes, we pull together. I know, a quaint concept, right?
Hope you got through last night’s storms OK. I’ve read a few problems on my Facebook feed and on the news. One of my friend’s oven caught fire due to a lightning strike! (YIKES!) I know I was thankful for the 1.43 inches of rain we received. My Yazoo Clay was thankful.
But the moral of this story:
The sun came up. We made it through another storm. Which took me moving to Twister Land to understand why that is such a metaphor for our lives.