JULY 16, 2019 – For today’s post I had several topics in mind. One was another (yawn) political diatribe against the president whose name I will not mention, because it feeds into his sole three purposes in life: 1. Publicity; 2. Publicity; and 3. Publicity. Another subject was sailing and how in a very real and immediate sense, it brings a person in close touch with “operational physics.” A third was . . . I forget the third.
But then came the weather.
As the day aged, the temperature and humidity climbed to uncomfortable levels, at least for us Minnesotans. We sat on our back porch, ceiling fan spinning like the prop of an old airplane on a long-distance flight. My wife, and family guests, plus a friend who’s like family, were chattering away noisily while we indulged in takeout food plus watermelon and just plain water to try to keep ourselves cool.
As time passed, I noticed a bright, lazy summer day transform itself into a more ominous one. From my vantage point, I could see a darkening sky. I remember gesturing with a watermelon rind aimed at the sky to the northwest and saying, “There’s rain in that sky over there.” Little did I know just how much rain.
The conversation around me and our granddaughter’s amusing antics being closer and more immediate, I found it all too easy to ignore the prospect of “weather.” Plus, I discovered the coleslaw.
But then I noticed distant thunder; not ordinary thunder, either. It was continuous, as opposed to continual, and after 20 minutes from the time I’d decided to time it, which was several minutes after it had started, I decided we were in for some “special” weather. It was at about that time that the local weather alert system kicked in and set off an alarm message on everyone’s phone. A flash flood warning was in effect.
Fortunately, we live in Falcon Heights, so we don’t have to worry about any nearby lake, stream, creek, or river getting out of control and threatening our dwellings. However, living on high ground (as opposed to a “high hog” or just plain “high”) doesn’t prevent the heavens from unleashing a deluge upon us.
And that’s exactly what happened. According to our weather apps and online radar, enormous thunderstorm cells were taking over our world. Their fury poured forth for over an hour, and in the aftermath we discovered a leak in our roof, all the low spots in our yard, and destruction beyond our immediate neighborhood—downed trees and power lines.
In time, the furious storm packed up its wind and rain and headed south and east. Bright sunshine burst forth on the western horizon. Temperature and humidity dropped. The air, filled with earlier rage, was now calm and quiet.
I have been through many storms in life. We all have. Eventually, they peter out or move on, but in every storm’s wake is the reminder that nature is still in charge.
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
