MONTANA TWISTERS: Great Falls Tribune, June 2008
Growing up in suburban Indianapolis, the natural world often seemed distant, out-of-the-way - something that my brother and I watched on Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom television show every Sunday afternoon.
Most of the year, our contact with Mother Nature seemed mundane and limited compared to what we witnessed on TV - that was the case until tornado season.
Nothing like black skies, boiling clouds, lightning and thunder, horizontal rain, pelting hail, and violent winds to remind everyone in the city that nature still exists in all its glory and terror.
A few weeks ago while I was back in Indiana for a visit, I was surprised to hear on the national news that tornadoes had been sighted in Montana. I always expect to deal with tornadoes (watches, warnings, and even the real thing) when I’m in Indiana during the springtime, but tornadoes in Montana? I had no idea…
No matter where you live, weather is a reminder that we’re all at the mercy of Mother Nature. Hurricanes, cyclones, landslides, blizzards, ice storms, avalanches, floods, drought, dust storms, wild fires, typhoons, tornadoes – the potential types of weather (or weather-related events) seem endless. But most people know what weather to really worry about, and what weather they’ll only ever view at a safe distance on the tube – or at least we think we do.
I never would have imagined a tornado touching down in Montana – little did I know.
According to www.disastercenter.com, there were 253 tornadoes in the state of Montana between 1950 and 1995; that’s an average of 6 tornadoes per year.
I’ve seen my fair share of tornadoes at a safe distance, but have never been in the middle of one. In active tornado states, most of the tornado season is less about actually experiencing real live twisters (thankfully) and more about anticipation and preparation. In states known for their powerful thunderstorms and supercells, you never know when a funnel is going to form – so it’s best to be ready, have a plan.
Tornado drills were always an annoying part of my school years back in Indy. When the disaster siren blared throughout the school and sometimes even the city (on statewide drill days), the teachers would herd us kids into the hallways and line us up along the cement walls. Next, we’d all drop down to the floor on our knees and crouch forward with our forehead on the ground, our hands covering our neck and head.
Drills were serious business: if you uttered one word, a teacher would haul you off to the office, girls were always supposed to wear shorts under our Catholic school uniforms so the boys wouldn’t try to look up our skirts, we had to stay in the tornado safety position for what seemed like forever – sometimes tornadoes can last for up to an hour, they told us.
Tornado watches and warnings were usually more exciting at home than school. My dad would send us all downstairs when the skies turned bruise black, and the thunder boomed and cracked all too close. We’d take bags of potato chips, cokes, toys and homework, and our tiny radio to listen to the weather updates. It was always a huge production to get our beagle/collie mutt, Misty, down the steep, slippery steps. I’d fret and pout until my dad finally carried her to safety. The crazy dog thrashed about, scratching her rescuer’s arms to death – she was more terrified of the basement than the storms.
My parents were proud of their “house with a basement.” It was very dangerous not to have a basement in tornado country, they said. I felt secure yet anxious hidden down in our cellar with my family and dog. As I munched on potato chips and listened to the radio weatherman warn of storms fast approaching, I worried about all of the people out there without basements.
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