Baptism of Wind
...Then he was told: Remember what you have seen,
because everything forgotten returns to the circling winds...
--Lines from a Navajo wind chant
[Note: this map may be of some help]
It was a wonderful Beltane weekend out at Camp Gaea. The energy was high and
the festivities were what one expects at this particular Sabbat. We got to spend
our first night in the cabin we are adopting. As always, old friends were there
and new friends were made. Sunday afternoon, that sad time when everyone packs
up and readies themselves to plunge back into the mundane world, came all too
soon.
We had just finished most of our own packing and loading and my wife had gone
with a friend of ours to scope out a camping spot for Heartland, when it began
to rain. I was doing some last minute clean up in the cabin and I paused to
enjoy the sight and sound of the downpour. The rain picked up and became what
people in Kansas refer to as a "gulley washer." Then I heard the
unmistakable sound of hail hitting the roof. I looked out to see marble sized
pieces of ice falling, bouncing, and dancing on the Earth. I hear a squeal and
some laughter from out in the storm and get to the door just in time to see my
wife and our friend running up to the cabin. They were soaked to the bone and
anxious to get out of the stinging hail.
As the two women toweled off and put on dry clothes, the hail stopped and the
rain tapered off. The, as suddenly as the storm had come it was gone. We chalked
it up to Gaea Weather (Gaea is known for having weather which is not
experienced by the surrounding area) until we heard the sound of sirens wailing
followed by the urgent clanging of Camp's bell. The tornado shelter for Camp
is the basement of the Main Hall. As we had no radio or TV- not even cell phone
coverage- at Camp, we had no idea that the storm was this bad.
The torrential rain of moments before had turned Camp into a bas relief
fountain. The hillside was a convocation of runnels, streams, and water falls
all rushing to worship at Lake Onessa or Hoot Owl Creek. The trails had turned
to freshets and brooks as the land was too slow to absorb all the water that had
been poured upon it. As we got the main hall, the caretaker told us a tornado
had just gone through Jarbalo (a few miles southeast of Camp). Having lived in
this area all my life, I know the weather patterns and, since the storm was east
of Camp, I knew we were out of danger. As we stood and watched the roiling wall
cloud heading toward the city, I was not concerned. People who live here are as
ambivalent about tornadoes as people in California are about earthquakes and
people in Florida are about hurricanes. There wasn't a tornado. So I did not
give it another thought.
We finished packing up and saying good-bye. I knew we would run into weather
on the way home but hey, I have driven through tropical storms, so I was not
overly concerned. So we began our journey home.
The journey across the farmland of Leavenworth County was inconsequential. We
ran into a few patches of rain but it was otherwise just a nice spring day
behind the storms. We ran into the storm proper about the time we got to 7
highway and headed south. The storm must have just recently arrived there itself
as people were still streaming out of the little league fields at the junction
of K-7 and County 8.
The deluge on K-7 highway was so bad that many of the less courageous drivers
had pulled to the side to wait the rain out. Even I was going safely below the
speed limit. I had forgotten about the hail. Out here on the open highway
without the canopy of trees to slow it down, the hail was a different animal.
These were not happy little marbles dancing around; these were ball bearings
being hurled out of the sky by an angry pitching deity. It hit the roof of the
car with a loud bang. Several stones hit the windows hard enough to make us
shrink back. There was no cover there so I decided to keep going and get on the
other side of the hail.
I have a choice of three routes off of K-7 by which I can go home.
Leavenworth Road is shortest but slowest, Parallel is a happy medium, and I-70
is fastest and longest. Leavenworth
is too slow and narrow and I really did not want to deal with the pandemonium on
the freeway caused by the weather, so I took Parallel. This small, quickly made
decision saved my life.
Soon after we turned, we were out of the hail and the rain slowed to little
more than a drizzle. As we drove, I explained all of the arcane knowledge of
thunderstorms and their results that one gains when one lives in Tornado Alley.
Most people who are not from the area are terrified when the sky turns black and
the sirens sound, but my Norwegian sweetie was nonplussed and full of questions.
As we spoke about dry lines and I tried to explain what a wall cloud was, I
began to notice cars on the other side of the road that had pulled over and were
just sitting there. I could not see out the back window because it was streaked
with water from the light rain so I had no idea why they were doing so.
Then we topped a small hill and there were two men, one with a video camera,
standing by a pick up truck and videotaping madly. I dawned on me what was going
on and I blurted out, "I think there is a tornado behind us." I craned my
neck to get a view behind me via the outside mirror.
About twenty feet behind the car and about five feet up in the air, a ring of
dark black cloud fragments was spinning. It capered back and forth as it
followed us, first to one side of the road and then the other. It passed right
over- I mean their heads were inside it- the guys at the
pickup. I watched in the mirror as they tracked its passage and saw the
wonder on their faces as they followed it and my car with the camera. This was a
tornado being born; its first wispy tendrils reaching down to the Earth.
I doubt many people have been that close to a tornado and lived to write
about it. I was fascinated by it as I watched it following me down the highway.
I regret not having a video camera with me but that image will be in my mind for
the rest of my life.
Having never been privy to the birth of a tornado first hand, I had no idea
if this one was going to suddenly and without warning going to burst into a
full-blown tornado. I did know that the freeway ramp I had to take would
actually make me go back west for a distance so I needed to get away from it
fast enough to still be clear when I got on the freeway. "What is that?" my
wife asked.
"It's not really a tornado," I lied, "It is more like a whirlwind or
dust devil." Yeah, right. A dust devil after a deluge. I accelerated as much as I could on the slick roads. It was
also about this time that I got the brilliant idea of turning on the car radio
to check the weather. It was then I found out the extent of the disaster
befalling the city.
I made it to the freeway, up the ramp, and got onto to northbound I-435.
Looking in the mirror I saw a black vortex of spinning cloud pieces going along
the shoulder and, now, it was big enough to be sucking up a small cloud of
debris. Whether it was the same one or a different one did not matter, I was
getting the hell away from it.
I was driving focused intently on the rear view mirror with just an
occasional glance at the road ahead. I had four lanes of open freeway with very
little traffic and I was taking advantage of it. We had gone maybe half a mile
when my wife pointed out my window and asked, "Honey, is that a real tornado?"
There, to my left and slightly ahead of me, coiling down from the sky like a
deadly serpent ready to strike was a very
real tornado. Looking at it to look upon something of incredible power and
awesome beauty- and seeing your death in it. I have lived here all my life. I
have studied meteorology. I watch many related shows on Discovery and The
Learning Channel. I know the history of some of our worst storms. I can draw you
a diagram explaining how a tornado is formed. And, until that moment, I never
really understood what a tornado was. I am sure my namesake must have felt the
same when he looked up and saw the Angel of Death standing over his city, sword
held high and ready to strike.
I also understood that it was extending down toward the ground and directly
at me. The tornado was coming down Leavenworth Road (had I chosen that shorter
route, the tornado and we would have been in the same place at the same time;
there is no question as to the result of that encounter). We were not clear yet.
I was stuck on open freeway and I had no choice- I had to cross its path. Had I
been in my sports car, I might have let fascination overtake fear for a moment
and taken time to observe the tornado, but we were in my wife's more family
oriented car and I did not want to take a chance. I gunned it and made it past
where, just minutes later, the tornado touched down and began all of the
destruction that made international news.
"Drive. Don't look at it, drive!" my wife urged as I tried to soak in
as much of the storm as I could while going down the highway at eighty miles an
hour. She was finally feeling the fear and she wanted to get out of there. I
could see no reason to argue so I did my best to put distance between us and the
altar of the Wind Gods.
I was nonchalant when I left Camp but I become cautious. Of course, it was
Sunday afternoon so the broadcasting B team was on the radio. Between the
constant static of the lightning, the disjointed reports being read and called
in, the constant but uneven breaks to and from other weather broadcasts, and the
squealing alarm and droning computer voice of the National Weather Service, the
radio was almost useless for information. I did manage to pick a few things out
and one of those was that a tornado was in Platte City, which lay directly in
our path. There were also numerous sightings of other tornadoes to the
north of us. I had to get off that freeway before we drove right into another
tornado. Something told me- urged me- to take 45 back east toward home. I got
off at 45 and headed toward Parkville.
It was unsettling, to say the least, to know I had tornadoes on two sides of
me and nothing at all to protect me should I come upon another. However, as I
drove down 45 Highway, my anxiety lessened somewhat and fear became a simple
urge to get home and feel safe. I did not know that the beautiful monstrosity we
left behind had devastated the area east of the freeway and was heading directly
toward Parkville. It was moving at a pretty good clip- about 40 mph- so,
considering I had to loop up and around to get over the river and it took a more
direct route, I estimate it was hitting the south end of Parkville about the
time we were going through the north side. Luckily, it decided to turn right and
hit Northmoor and Riverside. Had it stayed its course, we would have met again
on narrow, winding, hilly 45 Highway. What is really spooky is, I had I decided
on the fast route and taken I-70, I would gone to I-635 and cut north which
means I would have had two more opportunities to cross the tornado's path as
it ripped through Northmoor.
No matter, none of this happened and we were safe. As we passed Parkville and
headed down 64th Street, we once again found ourselves in the heavy
rain that had preceded the storm at Camp. We were in front of it now and I knew
we had nothing to fear.
There is something about being home that just makes you feel safe. When we
arrived, there was no question in my mind that we had outrun the danger. The
torrential rain and hail arrived at the house just a few minutes after us and,
again, like some cosmic instant replay of life, became the hail filled torrent
we had experienced at Camp. The rain lifted and I suggested that we go unload
the car. All of a sudden there was a huge BOOM and the power went out. As we
stood there feeling all safe and secure, that tornado passed one and a half
miles south of our house as it bulldozed its path of destruction through
Gladstone and on to Liberty. It had paralleled our path home almost perfectly.
I suppose if I were of a different bent, I would just thank whom or whatever
I worshipped and be grateful I gained a cool story out of the deal. However,
being who and what I am, I am still trying to sort out what happened on a higher
plane. On a Sabbat that also happens to be my birthday, on my way home from Camp
Gaea, I come across the paths of two tornadoes and they follow me. By sheer luck
(or something else) I avoid crossing the path of devastation in four different
places and it ends up going thorough my own neighborhood. There has to be
meaning here. There has to be a purpose, a lesson. I suppose that whatever this
is will become clear as I devote more thought to it. In the meantime, I am sure
of one thing: I have survived my baptism of wind.
posted by The Pendragon at 5/05/2003 08:34:00 PM 