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Books About Life on a Farm Written Especially for People Who Like to Read! "Highly recommended reading." The Midwest Book Review Reviews & Readers' Comments |
LeAnn R. Ralph Rural Route 2 Author E6689 970th Ave. Colfax, WI 54730 (715) 308-6336 |
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by LeAnn R. Ralph Early June. 8 a.m. - and already it must have been nearly 80 degrees. Dad had just come in from the milking the cows, and it was time for breakfast. "I can't believe it's been 10 years," Mom commented, pouring milk on her Cornflakes. Dad glanced at the calendar. "Yup," he said, sitting down at the table, "exactly 10 years ago today, I guess." "Doesn't seem like it's been that long," said my brother, Ingman, as he poured a cup of coffee. I glanced around at Mom, Dad and Ingman while I buttered my toast. "What was 10 years ago today?" I asked. "The tornado," Mom replied. "What tornado?" I wondered. "The one that destroyed Colfax," Mom explained. "Lots of people killed, too," Dad added. "Twelve in Colfax, I think it was. But more than that, too, because it came through by Cedar Falls." "Almost all the houses in town were blown down - in certain parts, anyway. Trees uprooted. It was a mess for a long time after that," Ingman said. Before this, I had heard my family mention the tornado that struck Colfax on June 4, 1958, but I hadn't been born until two months later. My knowledge of tornadoes was scanty, at best. "What's a tornado like, anyway?" I asked. Everyone was quiet for a few moments. "Well," Dad said, "you've seen whirlwinds out in the field, haven't you?" I nodded. "You called them dust devils." "A tornado is like that only much, much, bigger," Dad said. "And it starts with a bad thunderstorm," Mom added. "Then the storm swirls around, like a giant whirlwind, and it smashes everything," Ingman explained. "Does EVERY thunderstorm make a tornado?" I asked, a chill creeping up my spine. "No," Mom said. "Not every thunderstorm." "Then how do you know when there'll be a tornado?" I asked. "You don't," Dad said. "That's the bad thing about it." I realized - right then and there - that I had another good reason for being afraid of thunderstorms. As if thunder, lightning, wind and hail wasn't enough, NOW I had to worry about tornadoes, too. "Did you SEE the tornado here?" I asked. "Oh, no," Mom said. "It was raining much too hard to see anything." "I was out in the field when the storm hit," Ingman said, "and it poured. In about two minutes, the tractor was stuck in the mud." "Of course," Mom added, "I knew it was something pretty bad because it didn't seem like any ordinary thunderstorm. And it had been so hot that day." "Hot like today," Dad commented. Mom glanced out the kitchen window and brushed the damp hair off her forehead. "Just like today," she agreed. "Just like today?" I echoed. Once again, a chill crept up my spine. "Started out hot and humid in the morning," Mom said. "And it just got hotter. The tornado came late in the afternoon. About supper time. We probably should have suspected it was tornado weather." "Hope we don't get a storm like that today," Dad said. "Feels like we could though," Mom added... For the rest of the day, I watched the sky. What was that bit of haze to the west... Storm clouds?...No, maybe not... The day grew hotter and hotter, and finally, later in the afternoon, I could't stand it anymore - "Will we get a tornado today?" I asked my mother. Mom laid down the newspaper she was reading. She glanced out the window where the sky was clear as far as the eye could see and the fields shimmered in the hot afternoon sunshine. "Of course not," Mom said. "Whatever gave you THAT idea?" What, indeed? Post Script - When my husband and I began packing to move back to my hometown in 1995, one afternoon we went through my mother's cedar chest. Included in all the memorabilia Mom had saved was the 25th anniversary edition of the local newspaper containing photographs and original accounts and articles about the tornado. Actually, a series of tornadoes struck this part of Wisconsin that night, and in all, more than 20 people were killed - 12 from my hometown - while countless others sustained injuries ranging from minor to life-threatening. As I read those original accounts, I realized I couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to have my home ripped apart. Or to see a neighbor lying in the street and to know that person is dead. Or to be isolated from the outside world because there is so much debris rescue crews couldn't get through for hours and hours. Or to be grateful the local dentist and the veterinarian had come to no harm because they were the only people who knew how to administer pain-killing medication. Today, even though all my knowledge of the Colfax tornado is second-hand, I am - I think - maybe a little bit more afraid of tornadoes than the ordinary person. Usually I'm able to control the fear by consoling myself that advanced weather tracking systems can give ample warning of such danger. And because my belief in the warning systems is so strong, when the sky begins to grow black and thunder rumbles in the distance, I turn on both the television and the radio. But I have also learned warning systems are only helpful when the tornado develops a certain number of miles away. I discovered this bit of information one summer day when a thunderstorm blew up - and a tornado developed right above us. As the wind began to blow and the rain to fall, my husband and I headed for the basement. And while we stood in the basement, waiting for the worst of it to be over, with the house creaking and shuddering above us, then the warning came on our battery operated radio - "a tornado has been spotted six miles west of Colfax. People in this vicinity are urged to take cover immediately..." I looked at my husband. And he looked at me. "Fat lot of help that was," I muttered. In a little while the storm had passed. We later learned that, fortunately, the tornado which had been right above us never did touch down... So - in spite of all the advanced weather technology at our disposal - I guess the only thing we can ever know for sure is if there is a severe thunderstorm, then there's always the possibility of tornadoes. And that's something the people of my hometown probably knew long before the night of June 4, 1958. |
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