Stormy

Where I come from is a large, flat plain in the middle of a continent. Unlike Prague or the towns of the Alsace, it was never marauded by the armies of rival empires on either side. Well, maybe the native peoples who lived here before European settlement could say that, but since European settlement is hasn't been re-marauded, it's all just Middle America.

However, it does come under regular attack, not by army hordes, but by extreme weather conditions. If you've been paying attention you know that we in Wisconsin just survived the worst winter in about 100 years - both snowiest and coldest. Now the snow has finally melted, the dumb daffodils have bloomed and gone, the flowering trees are all in leaf, it hasn't dipped below freezing in, oh, probably a whole week now, the corn is coming up, Memorial Day has passed, and it's summer. Which is tornado season.

This weekend I drove with my cousin down to my Dad's hometown which is in the south west of the state. The weather was alright when we drove down, although it was overcast the whole way, but when we stopped near Belmont to go to the bathroom before arriving (so as not to cut into hugging time when we got there), there were black clouds gathering ominously.

When we got to the first house full of cousins, they had the weather service radio on and there were regular alarms and warning announcements. By the time we got to my Aunt's house the weather report had superseded regular programming on even the network channels, and the weather map showed angry red and yellow blotches moving across our county and to the east. The meteorologist came on and showed how two storm systems were twisting around to collide with each other and he showed little rotating circles on the map to show where funnel clouds had been spotted. The Madison news reporters were sounding all a little hopped up and edgy, I think because this perfect storm was headed exactly the way of their studio. Where we were, the wind blew up and rattled the trees around and it rained hard, but passed, and in the evening it was actually a bit nice, cooler and less stickily humid. We sat out on the back porch drinking wine and talking about continuously variable planetary transmissions, until big drops started to fall at 11pm and the cousin who hadn't been drinking wine ran me home.

Today before we left there were only green patches on the tv weather map (flash flood warnings), not yellow (severe thunderstorms) or red (tornado), the storms on their way from Iowa seemed to be heading north and south of us, and so we thought we'd have a good run back to Appleton. However. Just at the point on the 151 where you turn north, we found ourselves beneath a big black line of cloud that was the leading edge of a storm heading south. There was lightning ahead, hitting all the way to the ground, every minute or so. It started to rain. The sky turned that green color that they had just been talking about, that usually means either tornado or hail. We drove into the rain. It was windy and coming down in sheets, there was water washing over the road in the far lanes going the other direction, it got so you couldn't see the taillights of the car in front. I was trying to be responsible and calming and in charge and was looking for just a country road we could pull into to sit until the storm passed, but my resourceful cousin spotted a roadhouse across the highway, so we did a quick turn and drove over to it. We parked right by the door but even from just running the distance between the car door and the entrance we got soaked.

We ended up playing darts for about an hour, and sitting around playing paddle with the other folks there, until the rain eased up enough to head on. We had done the right thing stopping, even though we were late getting home.

Summer weather in the Midwest is treacherous. It just blows all the way across - Nebraska and Oklahoma to Iowa, into Wisconsin, across to Indiana which is underwater tonight, to Ohio and even New York State. Rivers break their banks, big lakes of water stand in the cornfields confusing the cows who stand huddles up the hill wondering how to get to the barn. Wind and rain sheets whip windshields of people who have to drive that way to get somewhere. Clouds are so dark you can't tell if it's time to get up. Street lights come on in the middle of the day. Sirens, beeping warnings on the weather radio, red maps on the tv news and edgy broadcasters. I'd sort of forgotten about this part. When I lived here before I was always younger than 14 and someone bigger than me was always responsible for worrying about the weather, making decisions and figuring everything out.

Three more months of this, and then it will snow again. It's not Prague, but this place takes its own kind of courage and fortitude to live here.