When we think of our yearly Day of Memorial, any winds that come to mind are the Winds of War. After all, the veterans of wars and fallen warriors are who we are meant to remember.
This Memorial Day, and forever after, I will also remember other Winds and those taken by them.
Living as I do in California, which shakes and quakes and lights afire from time to time but rarely sees a thunderstorm, I don't know much about living with tornados. So it was with a little trepidation that I traveled to Kansas - the dark heart of Tornado Alley, just one day after the tragic events in Moore, Oklahoma. Driving away from the airport in Wichita and heading west, I missed the 'large funnel' that dropped out of the clouds near the airfield that evening, which luckily failed to touch ground and go off on a brutal tear.
Kansas - at least the central part of it I was in, is flat. Nothing is there to block the path of storms; no obstacle to break them up or sap their strength. If a big wind comes rolling at you down out of the Northwest, you are stuck like pins on a bowling alley, with nowhere to hide.
Just 30 miles or so from where I was staying is Greensburg, which was wiped off the map in May 2007 by an EF5 - the same monster size as the Moore twister, and is famously being rebuilt around a green energy plan. I can only imagine what the good citizens of Greensburg thought when that storm hit Moore; perhaps a brief moment of relief that the spinning wheel of fate stopped somewhere else in Tornado Alley this time around, but more likely a profound sense of the camaraderie of shared misfortune. The folks in Greensburg know what the folks in Moore dealt with that day, and what they will continue to deal with for some time to come.
In practical fact, everyone living in Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, and most of the midwest, know all about living with Tornados. And they don't spend their days nervously glancing at the latest doppler radar updates on their iPhones, like I did. Good, solid, people not easily scared by something that would send the bravest, most earthquake-savvy Californian into whimpering fits.
Brave folks persevering stoically in the path of God's Reaping Wind; much like those soldiers who walked and flew and sailed into the Winds of War. Memorial Day, for me, will now be a time to remember them all.
This Memorial Day, and forever after, I will also remember other Winds and those taken by them.
Living as I do in California, which shakes and quakes and lights afire from time to time but rarely sees a thunderstorm, I don't know much about living with tornados. So it was with a little trepidation that I traveled to Kansas - the dark heart of Tornado Alley, just one day after the tragic events in Moore, Oklahoma. Driving away from the airport in Wichita and heading west, I missed the 'large funnel' that dropped out of the clouds near the airfield that evening, which luckily failed to touch ground and go off on a brutal tear.
Kansas - at least the central part of it I was in, is flat. Nothing is there to block the path of storms; no obstacle to break them up or sap their strength. If a big wind comes rolling at you down out of the Northwest, you are stuck like pins on a bowling alley, with nowhere to hide.
Just 30 miles or so from where I was staying is Greensburg, which was wiped off the map in May 2007 by an EF5 - the same monster size as the Moore twister, and is famously being rebuilt around a green energy plan. I can only imagine what the good citizens of Greensburg thought when that storm hit Moore; perhaps a brief moment of relief that the spinning wheel of fate stopped somewhere else in Tornado Alley this time around, but more likely a profound sense of the camaraderie of shared misfortune. The folks in Greensburg know what the folks in Moore dealt with that day, and what they will continue to deal with for some time to come.
In practical fact, everyone living in Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, and most of the midwest, know all about living with Tornados. And they don't spend their days nervously glancing at the latest doppler radar updates on their iPhones, like I did. Good, solid, people not easily scared by something that would send the bravest, most earthquake-savvy Californian into whimpering fits.
Brave folks persevering stoically in the path of God's Reaping Wind; much like those soldiers who walked and flew and sailed into the Winds of War. Memorial Day, for me, will now be a time to remember them all.
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