Derecho

I was taking my trash out when I saw the apartment’s property manager picking up debris on the premises. I offered my help, but she said she got paid to clean up. There was a tree split down the middle. “Did you see this tree go down?” she asked. I hadn’t, I said, because I went to the basement when I saw the winds picking up just before the tree went down, thinking there was a tornado. The property manager thought that perhaps lightning had split the tree, but I think the 80-mile-per-hour wind from the derecho took it down.

Seeing and hearing the wind pick up and violently disturb the trees reminded me of the tornado in my hometown about eight or nine years ago. On that day, there was a thunderstorm and I tried to take a nap with Colby, my mom’s dog. But Colby was clearly anxious. Then the sirens went off, and I darted down the stairs, around the house, and to the basement with the dog. I forgot to secure the basement doors and they blew open the extremely loud winds took out trees and houses around Mom’s house — and that was only an EF1!

I found yesterday’s derecho nearly as frightening, though apparently one of my neighbors didn’t. I encountered while I was seeking shelter in the basement; she was more concerned with her car than with her own safety as she ventured out to the parking lot in the high-speed gusts, an act of courage far beyond me! I hate storms, and the derecho was no exception to that hatred.