Stormy Weather

It’s so strange.  I was going to write about our (mis) fortune and (dis) pleasure of living in places known for their susceptibility to damaging storm activity.

Ohio, where we lived for many years, always gets more than its fair share of tornadoes. The South Carolina coast, our current home, is unnecessarily hurricane prone.

Both hurricanes and tornadoes can, and often do, cause catastrophic damage.  And they attack in such different ways.

Hurricanes can be forecast weeks in advance; tornadoes pop up with little or no warning.  We can pack up and run from hurricanes; hunkering down in a low and protected spot is the only defense against tornadoes.

Last night an EF-3 tornado popped up in a little town not far from our old home in Ohio. There were no warnings, no sirens, no time to prepare. The town is essentially flattened. Poof! Gone! Just like that.

I wrote the following piece years ago.  It’s still etched in my mind and, as a result of last night’s tornado, it’s spinning around and around again in my head.  It’s remains my personal experience and one I’ll never feel good about.

Foul and Damaging Weather (written October 23, 2016)

The sky was pitch black.   At  4:10 PM.  On April 3, 1974.  In Dayton, Ohio.

But we knew why.  We were used to tornado warnings and watches.  We weren’t a full-fledged, designated, tornado-alley community but we were close enough.

Even as the tornado sirens were wailing, we were outside with the children, watching the wind direction, looking for unusual cloud formations and fallen tree limbs, but we weren’t scared.  It really was business as usual.

Later, when it seemed everything had blown over, we went back inside, did our normal every-day things, and went to bed.

What we didn’t know was that a small town just slightly east of us had suffered the brunt of an F -5 tornado.  It touched down at 4:40 pm and destroyed much of the town.  34 people were killed; 1500 injured.   Massive, massive attack by Mother Nature.

Those are the facts.  Readily available on Google.  “The Xenia Tornado.”  

Our phone rang about 6:00 am the following morning.

It was a Red Cross volunteer.  Through her I quickly learned of the devastation and disaster that had struck, so close to home.  She asked if I could/would join the others who were gathering to go to Xenia and help those whose homes, families, businesses, and lives had been totally destroyed.

I quickly told her that our family was on its way to Hilton Head Island for our annual vacation and that I would be unable to help.

And I hung up the phone.

Those words, my thoughtless words, haunt me to this very day. I dearly wish I could re-write history.

Storm clouds photo courtesy of Unsplash