Tornadoes

I often think of the first white settlers who moved into western Kentucky. They must have thought that they had discovered another Virginia. The weather is very similar, the land looks pretty much the same, and the same basic crops will grow in both places. I can imagine them clearing the land, building their houses, and planting their tobacco.

And then, one day in the early spring, they learned about the tornadoes.

In all the years I lived in western Kentucky, I never got used to the tornadoes. I didn't like the school drills where you had to go out in the hall and put your hands over your head. I didn't like the watches and warnings that interrupted afternoon TV. I didn't like the weird coloring in the sky when tornadoes were in the air, or the odd empty feeling in the air. It scared me every single time.

It still does. It was horrible today reading tweets from western Kentucky as the wind storms rolled across those beautiful old counties -- the frightening "watch" being followed by the even more terrifying "warning." What is so terrible about a tornado is how random it is. You can't plan for it, you can't get away from it, you can't really do anything except hope that it misses you. It's as if western Kentucky is oppressed by a horrific demon that demands sacrifices every so often.

Fortunately, most folks in western Kentucky are made of stronger stuff. Year after year, they put up with the tornadoes, the ice storms, the bitter heat, the freezing rain, the flash floods, and the mosquitoes. And they tell themselves that they live in the most beautiful place on earth.