Storms and Other Forces of Nature

I'm sitting on my back porch and a late-afternoon storm is rolling in. The sky is growing dark and the pecans and Bradford pear trees in my back yard are rustling their skirts in the wind. The calla lilies and the wisteria are shimmying and shaking like Tina Turner. Then...stillness and quiet.

It's funny how although I love a storm, the approach of one sets off small alarm bells in my belly and I share that with my boxer dog, Pearl. She is deathly afraid of a storm although the small dogs don't seem to notice the weather at all, except to avoid going out in the rain to poop and pee. I have taken lately to giving them all "thunder treats" when electricity starts to crackle and roll across the sky, coming from some great distance on its way to here. I am hoping to associate the sound of the thunder for Pearl with the taste of something good- in today's case, a bite of leftover hamburger from Saturday's grilling. I doubt this will really work, but I'm trying.

I was never afraid of bad weather until I was fifteen. I was at a camp in North Carolina when a huge storm came through and lightening hit the wall of the cabin I was sitting in. I and my cabin mates were fine, but a counselor in another cabin was crying out that she'd been hit, that she was burned, that she needed help. I took off down the steep, rocky path to get help under a black sky that was spitting lightening all around me, rain was pouring down and the thunder was deafening. I knew I was in real danger and I did pray for safety, but even at the age of fifteen I had a strong feeling that God, if He did exist, was not really watching out for one fifteen-year-old girl.

All turned out well. The counselor was mostly just scared, and we all lived to tell about it, although the wall of our cabin bore a scorch mark for the rest of the summer to demonstrate what nature could do when she took a mind to it.

I'm sure that's where the little niggle of alarm comes from when a storm is approaching. Well, that and the fourteen or so hurricanes I've lived through and oh yes, that time we were on the boat and a storm came up...

But the bottom line is that I lived through every one of these experiences. And it amazes me that the lesson I've taken away from them isn't "Oh, this is so exciting! Another adventure to live through and remember!" but "Shit. Another opportunity for death or dismemberment." It takes everything in me not to call each and every family member I have to make sure they're in a safe place and are all aware that a storm is coming through.

But I think that's my nature. I am a worrier and a brooder and a glass-is-half-empty kind of girl. I have tried so hard to learn not to be this sort of person. I know that it's the optimistic, swing-with-the-wind, adapt-to-changes sort of person who lives to be a hundred. So far though, it hasn't happened. As with Pearl, I continue to work on it.

And the really good thing is that even though I get buzzed (and not in a good way) when a storm comes through, I can still enjoy it. I can still enjoy the power of it and the relief of it and the way the air changes and the birds welcome it with chitter, and the frogs call it with croaks and I love feeling cozy and safe in my house, observing it all.

And it's good to remember that when other types of storms come through my life, my heart, this crazy brain of mine. I can respect the power of my feelings and of the situations, even as I grow anxious and worried. I can remember that I have lived through these sorts of things before and most likely will again.

The storm will pass, the air will be all the fresher for having been rinsed with rain and cleansed with ozone, and the trees will have had their thirst slaked. All of my children will be safe, and the sky will quite miraculously turn blue again.

The thunder is beginning to rumble now and Pearl is huddled at my feet. The goats and chickens and the turkey who all live next door are silent, waiting for the party to truly begin. And I can feel the oak trees yearning for the clouds to open and pour their water out, to soak the ground around them.

I have prayed for these storms. I have ranted and raved for these storms. I have craved their arrival for months and months. Now they are here and how can I be anything but grateful? They are life and without them, we would perish.

I suppose the same can be said for those tumultuous occasions that we all go through. They must have purpose in our lives and a positive purpose, too.

At least that's what I try to tell myself. At least that's what I try to believe.