Tornado - Take: Two

So I learned my lesson from last time:  Better Safe than Sorry.

My sister and I had just been having a discussion about how life is so much easier at the beach: simple meals, fewer clothes, less stuff.  It really hits home, however, when you have just a few moments to grab the essentials.  What do I need if I lose the roof over my head?  In our case, the kids had shoes, sippy cups and snacks; I had my purse, weather radio, and flashlight. 

We hunkered in a sheltered spot in the basement, able to catch a glimpse of the blowing wind and white sheets of rain.  I can't say that I heard anything other than the voices of my children, a couple excited at the change of scenery, a couple leary of the events.  I was anxious for the mother robin tending to her three little ones; Andrew was worried that his large toy NASCARs would be blown away.

The wind died down, the skies cleared, and I headed to look out the door.

Really, it never occurred to me that anything would happen to us; surely the storms would bypass our home.

Then I looked outside.

One of the large cedars, completely uprooted.

(We saved an 18' section of the trunk, dad).

A mysterious tree whose roots are so enormous I thought they were the branches crashed across our ditch and onto the neighbor's driveway.

The four Bradford pears had outlived their lifespan and ended up in an imposing twisted heap.

This was a favorite shady spot next to the driveway, a place to hide Easter eggs, set little boys, and use as a construction site for eager builders.

Our dear maple tree: picnic spot, bluebird housesite, baseball backstop, kite-catcher.

The clubhouse lost some roof pieces, but come the next storm, they should blow out of the trees.

Momma Robin and babies were fine though the little ones seemed to leave the nest sooner than usual, maybe due to the increased activity in the backyard and noise of the generator.

One neighbor whose had a huge poplar crash through the front of her house and then over the back said she mourned most of all the loss of her trees.  Roofs and siding can be fixed quickly, but stately trees who have guarded one's home aren't so easily replaced.

Still we consider ourselved fortunate.  The tallest of trees that could have landed on our roof didn't, and everything fell away from the house.  We lost one piece of siding.  And most importantly, we still have each other.  That's a lot more than many can say of the events last week.

It reminds me of Remington Steele's story in the episode "Galvanized Steele": 

"Marcos Androkos." He smiled gently. "Little man. Neck so short he said it wasn't worth washing. Black mustache, thick like wire. And a big smile with a gold tooth in it, right here."

"We all went down to the pier to watch it [a tanker] arrive." He paused, lost in the memory.

 "She wasn't out there more than two miles when an explosion in the engine room ripped through the side of the hull. Before I could believe what was happening, it sank like a stone." 

"Since he was twelve, he wanted nothing else, and like that, it was gone. Bingo."

"The pier became so quiet we could hear each other breathe.  And then Marcos...he starts to laugh--and I don't mean a nervous titter, but a full-bellied, spit-in-the-sky laugh.  I couldn't bloody believe my ears; I was furious! 

"Why are you laughing?" I screamed at him.  

"Because, Xenos, because from now on, everything is new again, eh? Eh? Just think of the possibilities. THINK of the possibilities."

We now have a blank slate for half of the yard...crape myrtles, perhaps?