Some of you may know that I am an Alabamian. I was born and raised in Alabama and it will always be my home. Around here, tornado watches, tornado warnings, tornado sightings, and tornado aftermath are common enough for everyone to have a tornado story. But–and you’ve probably heard another Alabamian say this on the news or read it elsewhere–what happened on April 27th was like nothing many of us had ever seen before. In past years, perhaps because there is so much rural area in the state, some of us chalked up the few losses to seasonality. Sure, some people had genuine and warranted fear of tornados. But some of us had bestowed on this powerful weather phenomenon an almost idiosyncratic status as if it was a feature that gave Alabama character. I know I have behaved this way, making fun of some German import friends of mine who “freaked out” when they first encountered such a storm.
In fact, my favorite times of the year are the windy, storm-riddled months of spring and fall where tornados are born in terrible litters that race up and down county roads. Electrified, the air before a storm smells like fresh and pure. Wet soil adds a heady and intoxicating aroma to the mix. Intense energy fuels nervous voices and anxiety-laced laughter assures anyone around that we are excited and maybe a little scared, though we expect to come out of it alive. Sometimes I feel compelled to go out and watch the storm approach, to listen to the eerie wail of the tornado sirens lamenting all over the city. A slow, contralto keen.
You know those people on YouTube that are endlessly ridiculed for eschewing safety in favor of watching the impending release of nature’s fury? I agree. They are silly. But, I am one of them. It’s hard to explain for a person who has not experience this sort of event or a person who is not a naturalist, but an event like this one is compelling, a marvel, an event. It’s God at work in a way that makes you wonder who the hell asked for a sign. It’s seductive and quite misleading when you’ve come through unscathed so many times.
That Wednesday’s tornados were the third such string in only about ten days. There was damage from the others, but again, nothing like April 27th. The day before and the day of the tornado, we knew it was coming, we prepared for it. Schools closed, weather radios came out of cabinets, and we designed plans to hunker down in hallways and basements of strong structures to wait it out. In truth, that’s all one can do, because tornados are fickle and mean. They twist and turn and go where they like and destroy in flashes. Me? I stood on the patio marveling at how dark the sky had become in middle of the day, letting the wind whip through my hair, glorying in the misty prelude to rain on my skin. Until security came and got me and demanded I get to safety.
The storm went south of us. Nothing happened across the river. Then, I drove home or tried to.
Nearly there, I wondered why traffic was backed up. Then I turned on my radio and found heard nothing but white noise. On another station, the reports of devastation started coming in. Then I came to an intersection where I was not allowed to cross. This is what I saw:
April 27, 2011
I’m going to post some of my pictures from my relief work over the past couple of weeks, but I swear I don’t know why. You’ve seen the sort already, and no matter how devastating it looks in a picture, it is nothing like seeing it in person standing beside someone who has lost property and even lost a life that was dear to them. I am one of the luckiest and most blessed women in the world. Lucky or blessed. Lucky and blessed. My home was fine, though without power for several days, my family was fine with minimal damage. And since everything was OK, it was my duty to volunteer, to give, to listen, and to be present for those who needed it and continue to need it.
The traffic in Tuscaloosa, Alabama where I was at the time was tied up from the moment the tornado passed through on into at least yesterday when I was there, not with aid workers, though they were there, but with onlookers, gawkers, people who has to see it for themselves. At first, this made me angry. They were in the way, impeding progress, and selfish if they were merely looking, not helping. That feeling passed as I realized this compulsion, like my desire to see the storm, went beyond classless nosiness, people needed to see how close they had come to death and devastation, they needed to experience this grief first hand in order to come through it.
There are so many volunteers immediately following the storm, that many were being turned away from various organizations and told to come back another day to offer assistance. I, for one, am one of those people who will come back. I think of Haiti’s devastation so many months ago. There was help in the beginning, but it petered out quickly. They still need help, and in the months to come so will the people of Alabama. I am going to post a call to action for aid a few months from now because it’s also my duty not to let anyone forget.
On April 27th, a ravenous tornado went directly through the city of Tuscaloosa eating everything in its path, homes, business, people, leaving rubble and broken lives behind. I learned on April 27th that a tornado is not a character, it is a force and a beast and–what probably annihilates my sense of comfort the most–completely out of any person’s span of control.
On the following Wednesday, Emergency Broadcasting System tests were scheduled to occur as they do every first Wednesday of the month. TV, radio, and, yes, tornado sirens. Instead, flags flew at half-mast and the sirens did not sound.
If you’ve read Bright Star, you might think that’s an understatement. If you’ve read The Builder you might think it’s an overstatement. If you’ve read my recent release Inside Out… I’m not sure what you’ll think. But at least one customer reader who gave the story 5 stars called the leading lady a knucklehead, lol!
