Growing up at Tipton’s farm long before I turned eleven and we moved to the Swanson’s farm a quarter mile around the corner I remembered summer rain storms and winter snow storms.
One evening in the summer the rain just came down in torrents. The lightening crackled in the night’s sky. We always said to count once your see the flash of lightening to determine how close it was to you. If you counted one at the flash and then an immediate roar of thunder, it was close – really close. One of the days with lightening and thunder working together in quick cadence, my sister Nancy and Mom gathered at Nancy’s upstairs bedroom window to look up toward the end of our field where our Dad had gone in his pickup to turn off the irrigation well. The lightening streaked across the sky as thunder clapped too near by to not be frightened.
Dad had to climb down into the pump at that time to turn off the motor. Maybe turning if off helped keep the lightening from being attracted to the motor and shorting it out or worse yet blowing out it out causing a big repair bill. I could sense the concern as my Mom watched at the window with us. With all this lightening in the sky a man walking in the open field might be a target. You could sense her relief as we saw the pickup headlights coming back down the road toward the house.
Mom hurried down the stairs to help Dad out of his wet clothes. We really didn’t have waterproof clothing at the time in the early 1950’s. A canvas jacket, ball cap, coveralls and galoshes was about it. She was right there to help him strip out of his wet clothes happy to see him back from what we viewed as a dangerous mission.
We had storms over the years in Lakewood with lightening cracking across the dark sky and thunder clapping near-by. We would count from when the lightening flashed to when the thunder clapped just to see how it close it was. With most we could count to 5 or 10 before the flash so we thought the lightening was over a mile away. I don’t know who made up that un-scientific method to gage how far way the lightening was, but this little trick gave us some kind of Solis during the storms.
One evening, July 20, 2009, we had gone to bed about 10. The wind chimes tinkled softly and then in rapid clinks. The dog came to the edge of the bed in concern. We got up to see what was happening. In less then ten minutes the lights flash as the electricity went out. I stood by the shaking dog a few feet from the front living room window and watch the pea sized hail drive leaves sideways against the window. The roar of the hail storm was deafening, like a fright train roaring over our heads. With just force I was afraid the hail would break the window.
We all raced to the basement in fear a tornado was passing overhead. It was pitch black as the dog and I felt out way quickly down the stairs. Stan had gathered a couple of flashlights and was close behind. I picked a spot on the floor in front of the sofa not wanting to be in the laundry room where a tub could fall through the ceiling. The dog and I shook together as Stan scurried around checking the basement windows wells to make sure they weren’t filling too full from the deluge of rain and hail to flood the basement.
The hail was over about as quickly as it had started in 10 to 20 minutes as the roar of the storm subsided. We ventured out to the garage to see through the windows how much hail had fallen. About 5 to 6 inches was built up on the driveway. It was pitch black outside so you couldn’t see to well except for the brightness of the white colored hail. We went back upstairs with our flashlights. The back yard was eerie with fog from the cold hail on a warm summer’s night.
We saw neighbors with flashlights doing the same thing in their yards trying to assess the damage. We called a few just to make sure everyone was okay. All of our healthy summer flower planters were beaten to bruised sticks. No thick rows of mums this year fall. Tomato plants beat to shreds, along with the pole beans and zucchini plants that were just setting blossoms. Piles six to eight inches deep covered the lawn and sidewalk from the new growth tips from the spruce trees. We listened to KOA on the crank up emergency radio I had bought for Stan years ago. It seemed the storm had blown over us and moved to the south.
Nothing we could do about it in the middle of the night so we went back to bed. About one – am the power went back on and the emergency siren up the street started blaring. It had evidently been cut out when the power went out. Wouldn’t you think they would have a generator to back that up. When we called our daughter who lives about 3 miles away she said it was hailing there, but not too bad and the tornado siren was blaring. She still had power and was listening to the news about the storm.
We left for vacation the next day and didn’t really assess the damage until we returned a week later. The neighbor hood just ¼ mile away had taken a direct hit from the tornado that loomed overhead and spun off a microburst at 150 miles per hour of wind and hail. Our neighbors on those blocks lost 40 year old trees toppled like matchsticks. Windows were blown out like a flick of a finger on gossamer paper. The siding and bricks were pelted with the hail sized peas to as if shot from a gun. One of our favorite parks filled with 40 years old trees took a direct hit. The trees were uprooted or broken off like they were made of straw. No more shady walks through that open space for years to come.
I had gone to work the next day. Driving down 26th Avenue I could see just how bad the storm was and saw the breath of the storm damage along the way. When I go home that day some of the neighbors had crew of people cleaning up the debris on their yards. When we returned from vacation we got busy with our own clean up. The spruce tips the worst. The wind and hail had almost stripped our big old 40 year old tress bare. They were so lush and full before. Stan started the arduous task of bagging up the sappy spruce tips into 45 gallon thick construction grade plastic bags. One week the garbage took away 15 bags. Next week out went 29 bags. We had 10 bags of cottonwood leaves and many bundles of branches.
At least we have our trees still standing and the little flower planets are returning with some green sprouts.
One time probably in the 1960’s when a big old hail storm flared through Greeley in the summer, Dad’s crops got pelted almost to the ground. After the storm I remember riding in the pickup with him and Mom when we lived at the Swanson’s farm. The rain was flooding through the rows washing beaten crops down the waste ditch. Dad was devastated. All his labors for the year washed away in an afternoon’s hail storm. No crop insurance at the time so it was a full loss to him and the family. Farmers are the eternal optimists. Once the storms hit, they just assess the damage and determine if the crop will still set and corn will continue growing to harvest or plan for a better year next summer. The strength of that spirit keeps them farming in a positive light.