Relatives and friends who don’t reside in California often ask, “How can you stand to live out there with all those earthquakes?” They don’t know that earthquakes aren’t predictable, like the weather, and that we don’t have an earthquake season. Thankfully, they also don’t know how truly horrific earthquakes can be. After the Northridge quake, I was on the phone, talking to someone afar, when I heard an aftershock coming (yes, you can often hear an earthquake’s approach). I told him I might have to throw down the phone and run and he said, “Cool!” I told him then, and I tell you now, there is nothing cool about it.

 

So I live in a fault zone. And though terrifying, felt earthquakes aren’t as common as some might think. Honestly, I forget all about them until they happen, be it here or elsewhere.

 

I didn’t grow up here. I grew up in Georgia. Though there are fault lines in the American south, earthquakes simply weren’t part of our experience. Tornadoes, on the other hand, were. Regularly. And unlike earthquakes, tornadoes do indeed have seasons, and are somewhat predictable due to weather patterns and behavior.

 

It seems like that season has broadened and those weather patterns are worsening. Whenever I see a news report about another devastating tornado, my stomach turns. My whole body feels a bit heavy and it takes a while for the discomfort to pass. The photos of destruction are sickening, heartbreaking. And I have yet to watch or read a report of a tornado’s path without remembering my own terrible brush with a night of twisters.

 

 

I was maybe 5 years old, and my parents had gone out for the evening. We had a babysitter whose name I don’t recall, but I vaguely remember her blond ponytail and teen-aged face. It was a stormy night, to be sure, but storms aren’t uncommon in the south. Thunder, lightning, rain – those things happen all the time. All the time. And then the power went out. That happens as well, but our sitter was clearly frightened by this lack of electricity, so we kids were, too. I don’t think our phone was working either, because my parents never called.

 

And then it got loud. And that made no sense, as we lived way out in the country. That little rented house was probably on a half acre by itself, with nothing on either side. There was a huge vacant field behind us, and beyond that was a swamp. You know, the country. So when we heard what sounded like a train bounding down, it was scary. That’s when Mrs. Weldon started banging on our door. She lived way across the road and was our landlord. She told us all to come with her to their house and to do it now! The sitter, my sisters and I did as she said (she was an elder, after all) and we started running. At some point, Mrs. Weldon yelled, “Don’t look back! Just run!” And that’s when I had to look back. I couldn’t help it.

 

And there it was. The biggest twister my little mind could imagine. It looked larger than anything Dorothy had endured, and it was in the back field, coming right toward our house. As it screamed in our direction, I was pulled into Mr. and Mrs. Weldon’s home. They didn’t have a basement (nor did we), so they made us all get down on the floor in their living room. We were all on our knees, praying as hard as we could – just as we’d been instructed – while Mr. Weldon read aloud from the Bible. I don’t remember what he read. Mrs. Weldon told us all to close our eyes and pray harder. But I couldn’t close my eyes. I looked at my terrified, small sisters and the sitter. I looked at Mrs. Weldon, as she rocked back and forth in anxious prayer. I looked at Mr. Weldon, whose eyes were about to burn holes in that Bible from which he read. And the noise! It got louder and louder until I couldn’t hear Mr. Weldon at all. I think there was screaming, and for all I know, it may have come from my tiny body. The house shook and the rumbling was too much to take…

 

And then it stopped. It just stopped. Silence filled the space left vacant by the tornado and our fear. We all ran to the windows and doors. At some point, we went outside to see what, if anything, had happened. We were very quiet, afraid noise might trigger a return of the twister. And that’s when we saw the path through the deserted field behind our house. We saw trash and garbage strewn between our house and the Weldon’s. Beyond Mr. and Mrs. Weldon’s home, there was a further path, carved by sheer force. The tornado had jumped both our houses.

 

I don’t remember what we did or for how long. The next thing I knew, Mr. Harry (a friend of my parents’) drove up and said he’d gotten a call from our folks and they’d asked him to come get us. If I remember correctly, my parents were hunkered down somewhere, riding out the same weather system. So the sitter, my sisters and I went with Mr. Harry. (I think he must’ve driven the sitter home.) We then went to Mr. Harry’s and Miss Pat’s house to wait out the night, until our parents could get there.

 

They had kids, so we all played together while the adults sat and talked, watching the news. I loved Mr. Harry and Miss Pat, and I felt safe. Their house had power, so everything felt ordinary. Normal. And then we heard it.

 

That crazy train sound eased up on us, just as the lights began to flicker off and on. Then the roar came on so fast, I don’t remember having time to go anywhere, to prepare. That train was on us in an instant, with its deafening howls. Miss Pat ran into the room where we kids were playing, she started grabbing us, to take us — where? And then it was over. Turned out, like before, this tornado had jumped their house. What are the odds?

 

When all was said and done, my parents picked us up and we went home. Safely. News reports informed us there had been multiple tornadoes touching down that night, and there was tremendous destruction. I don’t remember if lives were lost. Nor do I remember anything else about the evening. What I do recall, I’ve never forgotten.

 

I’ve lived through many tornadoes, some in the south, some in the mid-west. Here in California, I’ve heard of exactly one funnel cloud in all my years as a resident. And that’s one too many.

 

My heart weeps for the souls dealing with savage weather. Even writing this, I’ve teared up. I don’t know what’s going on with our skies. I pray they become clearer and clearer. And I thank God we don’t have anything that even slightly resembles an earthquake season.

 

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