Tuesday evening, the 5th of February, 2008, Connie and I were watching some TV when the weather folks broke into the program to tell about a line of severe storms heading our way. At that point they were in Arkansas and western Tennessee and heading N.E. To my eye (which is not all that accurate) it looked as though the storms would get close to the Nashville area but would skirt past us, and that we would catch the edge of the super-cells as they would sail harmlessly north of us.
My wife, you must understand, is extremely frightened by storms. Thunder and lightning draw her pale. The look of desperate need mixed with fear shadows her. I, on the other hand, love storms. I can’t stop watching as the lightning flash-freezes everything in sight. The thunder makes me feel more a part of this planet than any sunny day. Not that I prefer storms over sunny days. But the sheer power of storms, mixed with the human futility to control them, whets my deep love and respect for life on this planet. Ours is a very transient existence. Storms are as old as the earth itself.
So when Connie announced around 9:00PM that she would be spending the night on the sofa in the basement it came as no surprise. I stayed with her for a while, but I wanted to get some rest so I kissed her goodnight and went upstairs to the bedroom. The large window we usually leave open for fresh air has inside shudders, and when I got ready to climb into bed I opened those babies as wide as I could to get a good view of the storm as it whisked its way across our back yard. The TV was on, and as I watched through the window I realized that this huge storm was not only going to come right through Nashville, but also Sumner County (Hendersonville) and beyond. What the weather station was saying and what I was witnessing was finally flooding into my thick skull. Lightning strikes were everywhere. Thunder was rocking our world. And soon the hail started. I could first hear it against the windows, then heavily on the roof. The house began to creak, just a little, but enough to tell me this was no thunderstorm. I looked out at the flashing sky. It was a sickly gray-green. Not a good sign.
I went downstairs to check on Connie. It was so quiet compared to upstairs, and she was asleep when I touched her arm to see if she was okay. Down in our basement you really can’t hear what’s going on outside. Even a storm like this gets muffled out. Waking her gently didn’t help. She sprung up with a start. Sorry, honey. I just wanted to see if you were okay. Well, I was until you woke me. I went back upstairs.
I continued my storm watch for about another half hour as the storm made its way into and out of Hendersonville proper. At this point I couldn’t tell if anything or anyone got hurt, but I knew, as this drama unfolded, there would be dire consequences. I heard sirens. I felt and heard the wind pushing its way past anything in its way. I heard the rain and hail pelt our roof. It sounded like Santa up there with a thousand tiny reindeer. This was the big one, Elizabeth.
I fell asleep after the first cell passed. Connie came up to join me. There was another line of cells on their way but wouldn’t reach us for a few hours. I couldn’t stay up for it. I guess I slept through the entire thing. Connie said that at 3:00AM JJ (our canine kid) was barking like crazy at the thunder. That’s a first. And she got no sleep. She got up at 6:00 to go get ready for work. I got up about 7:00 and turned on the news. This is what happened that night:
Tornados took their toll in Sumner and Macon Counties. 7 people died. Dozens were injured. Many homes and businesses were destroyed. Trees and power lines were twisted and downed. The Gulf Natural Gas Pumping Station in Hartsville was in flames. The explosion took out several houses across from the facility. The Castalian Springs Post Office was wiped clean off the face of the earth. Barns were entirely erased. The tornado cut a swath of destruction through houses, trailers, and businesses alike. One of the most visited and beloved tourist sites in Sumner County was destroyed. Wynwood State Historic Site in Castalian Springs, destroyed by a tornado. It was a stagecoach way-station and hotel back in the mid 1800’s.
The lives this storm uprooted are forever changed. And the strength the survivors show is remarkable. Families sifting through debris to find salvageable belongings is hard enough. But folks sifting through debris to find either surviving or dead family members is another story. The finality of it all is overwhelming. But people will not be deterred. Everyone interviewed, whether or not they lost everything or someone, said they would rebuild.
Hope springs eternal. While going through the rubble of the destroyed homes, a fireman was walking through a field strewn with what was obviously someone’s doll collection. Dolls lay everywhere. The fireman remarked to one of his men that there was a doll laying face down…”looked like a baby.” Then it moved. He grabbed it up, turned it over, gave a few pumps to clear it’s breathing, and it cried out loud. The ambulance took the child to the hospital with minor injuries. If it had laid there a few more minutes it probably would have drowned. The storm threw this baby about 100 yards. The mother was dead, crushed under the weight of her house.
Neighbors are helping each other. People who never met before are relying on one another. Food is distributed, clothing, blankets, shelter. The governor has asked for federal emergency assistance. It’s a real mess. I have no doubt that these people will eventually get back on their feet. What impresses me is the real care we have for each other when the chips are down. I know this care extends beyond emergency situations. I wonder why we sometimes don’t show more of it.
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