Ever since I can remember, I've been fascinated with tornadoes. Maybe it was getting surprised by my parents when they showed up at my school to take me and my sister to a matinee showing of Twister that sparked my interest. Maybe it was the constant replays of Night of the Twisters on cable. Maybe it was something completely different. What began my interest doesn't really matter, just that it has endured to this day and shows no signs of slowing down.
See, I live in a state that gets no tornadoes. My richest memory of one was a twister that tore up a grocery store about an hour west of my house when I was a kid. That's it, that's as close as I've come. I relish the tornado watches that the news occasionally throws my way, and I brighten up whenever the watch progresses to a warning. It is almost too much.
Don't assume this means I have a weird interest in death and destruction. It's not the aftermath I look forward to. The stories that have come out of the Midwest already this year are heavy on my heart, and I wish the best for all those affected and their families. I have read and consumed more tornado stories and videos than an average 24-year-old, so I'm quite familiar with the consequences. Yet still I hold out hope. I know there is no preventing them, so maybe I use that to rationalize my interest.
What it really comes down to is the pure awe-inspiring power. The most intense, concentrated power that nature has to offer. There is truly nothing like a tornado. Hurricanes, tsunamis, earthquakes, these are all events that cause much more damage and much more lasting effects than the average twister. But the concentration of wind power in such a small space is simply incredible. This is without mentioning the strange beauty of it all.
I recently began a job that has me traveling quite a bit. When I found out my first account was in Iowa, and I'd be there multiple times during the summer, I got excited. I knew there wasn't much in terms of tourist attractions in the area, but I felt like I finally had my chance to see one. Of course, the first night in Independence, we had a tornado watch. That was the last time (so far) that I would be so close while on business though.
Tonight, the area I grew up in, that same area that never gets a tornado, was hit by multiple instances of the storms. Parts of 19 communities throughout Western and Central Massachusetts have been hit, and the tornado watch has recently been extended until 11pm this evening. Thankfully, my hometown seems to have been spared of the heaviest devastation, suffering only downed trees and power lines. As of this moment it also looks like injuries were at a minimum, and only one fatality has been reported. I hope that the numbers remain where they are now, and do not grow.
From the moment I heard a big storm was coming, with the potential for tornadoes, I was very excited. I always am when I hear the watches, warnings, and reports. Once I began to hear of the sightings and damage in Springfield, my thoughts immediately rushed to my family and friends. Everyone is okay, and though the power and cell service was knocked out in my town, I was able to get in contact with those I was concerned about. Some texts made their way to me, others that couldn't text had the ability to use their 3G connection (somehow) to communicate on Twitter. Once things started to settle down, I even discovered that one of the videos the Boston news had been showing on repeat was taken in the truck of my friend I had just returned with last night from Florida. He had accidentally driven into the storm, and his coworker and friend lucked out enough to catch a tree falling in front of the truck and a roof being ripped off a house. The video can be found here, credit to Dylan. Silly world we live in.
Part of me was extremely jealous that I was out east, away from the action and the possibility of catching this storm with my eye. That feeling increased the more videos and pictures I saw as they scrolled by on Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube. But in the end, I'm so very relieved that everyone is okay. At the very least, you all have a wonderful story to tell. The night is not yet over here, with another two hours to go before the watch is lifted, but at least for this one day I think I can say I'd rather not be a witness. I know that sentiment will change, and I will always wish I could have been there (at a safe distance, of course). But there's always the next time.
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