One of my home towns was in Southern Indiana, down there where the Ohio River snakes it way through the hills.  When summer came it did it with a vengeance…flies, mosquitoes, sudden storms and days so humid you’d swear  you could wring  your clothes out and fill a bucket.

It was on one of those days that we suffered through getting ready for church and could hardly wait to get back home and put on something light and sleeveless.  Moths gathered on the front door screen, a sure sign something was in the wind.  We sat on the porch, feet up on the railing and sipped sweet iced tea, but even that didn’t cool us.  By the time we went to bed that night the weather had turned ominous.  What little breeze we’d had earlier had stilled, tree branches did not move.

4 a.m.  For a moment I thought I was dreaming and Mom was calling me, over and over.  I opened my eyes and she stood beside my bed screaming “A tornado is here, grab a robe and follow me.”  I struggled to keep my eyes open as I made my way out into the hallway where the rest of my family waited.  Mom and Dad herded us toward the kitchen where steps led to the basement.  Outside lightning flashed and the wind roared like a freight train and sleet pellets bounced off windows.  We heard the clash of metal as something collided with a tree.  Then there came a frightening whoosh as the back kitchen wall was sucked out and then another as it was slammed back in place, not exactly in its original alignment.  Icy rain poured through wide open gaps from floor to ceiling.

As we walked to the farthest corner of the cellar-like basement we could hear snapping tree branches and the relentless roar of the funnel cloud.  Over all  that noise we heard something else, a dull thud, close by.  Dad stood on tiptoe and looked out one of the high windows and paled.  “Oh my God” he muttered “the barn’s been hit.”  As he watched the  roof was lifted several feet, intact then dropped straight down. One side rested atop a high dirt bank. the  rest balanced on timbers.  If our livestock had been standing on the high side they would have had headroom when the roof came back down and would be fine.  We would not know for several hours.

As quickly as the tornado appeared it left.  The temperature had dropped 40 degrees in just a matter of minutes.  Our electricity was out and we used flashlights to find kerosene lanterns.  It was still dark outside and as we passed through the kitchen Mom sobbed as she bent to pick up pieces of heirloom plates which had adorned a wall shelf.  The floor was covered with icewater and scatter rugs were soaked.  The rest of the house appeared undamaged, so we all went back to bed, but probably not to sleep.

Dawn finally came, a gray, very cold dawn.Dad went directly to the barn and, as he suspected, all the stock was hunkered together back under the now detached roof, none the worse for wear.  Our yard looked like a war zone.  No other farm  in our area was hit by the storm and it didn’t touch down again for five miles.  where it swept through the outer edge of town.   It ultimately hopped its way across many miles but our farm appeared to have been its only v ictim.

Nowadays when a tornado warning is flashed across my TV screen I only need a minute to grab a flashlight and head for my inner closet where I keep a chair handy. Sometimes I sit there for hours before I warily open the door.  I’m thinking seriously of adding a clock and battery radio…one can’t be too cautious.