Last week, I excitedly waited the tail end of Hurricane Isaac.
I wanted to see a good storm blow through the area. I really like storms!
Not the violent ones that produce baseball-sized hail causing more than $4,000 damage to my truck, but the ones where billowing gray towers tumble over rolling black thunder heads driven by a strong northeast wind, spraying drizzle in front of the storm and dropping buckets of rain on the parched ground.
Since last week’s storm came from the south that pretty much eliminated the idea of that strong northeast wind.
Man, we didn’t even get the gray towers and the rolling black thunderheads! What a disappointment!
I lived down on the Texas coast in a little town called Texas City (who would believe that) in 1988.
That was the year of Gilbert.
Our apartment was less than a mile from the coast. I practically lived on the beach. My husband would go to work. I would do the breakfast dishes and head to the water.
September of ’88 saw me playing in the ever-increasing surf even as the U.S. Coast Guard was warning people away from the beach.
Evacuation orders were issued. My husband told me to be ready to leave as soon as he got off work.
Forget that! I was enthralled with the curling breakers coming up over the rocks. I was enjoying getting knocked down by the force of eight-and ten-foot waves. Pack up and leave! No way!
As it turned out, my husband and his family didn’t let me have much say in the matter. I had to go inland.
My only consolation was that not even Texas City got anything more than rain.
I’ve always loved sitting on the front porch, watching the first blue-northern of winter blow up.
I love sitting on the porch and feeling the blast of cold air as those awesome clouds roil and boil turning blue to purple to black.
I love to see the lightning zip across the sky leaving a trailing scent of electricity in the air.
I thoroughly enjoy standing firm as the powerful winds topple the heat waves rising off the distant road.
Last week, I was really hoping the forecasters were right and that we would get a tremendous storm from Mr. Isaac. What a dud he turned out to be (at least for my purposes).
Thursday evening, when we were first supposed to get storms, showed great promise.
I got off work just as the blue sky darkened and the wind kicked up. I stopped at the stable to feed the horses, hoping to get home in time to watch all the storm’s glory from my front porch.
I hurriedly filled the feed bucket, grabbed a bale of hay and headed for the boys.
The storm was over before I got the bale of hay opened and split between the horses.
Dark blue clouds spit and puffed at me only to break apart and show a clear blue sky.
The forecasters at one point predicted up to 10 inches of rain. Maybe there was still time for a good storm to brew.
Friday dawned grey and overcast. The forecast still called for heavy rains. By 11 a.m., I figured we might get a few heavy rains, but the hope of a good storm fizzled as the day wore on.
By 3 p.m. Friday, I was sure glad I hadn’t decided to build an ark!
Don’t get me wrong, the moisture we got was lovely. It was a nice, soft, gentle rain that wetted the grass and cooled things off.
It was NOT a storm. It certainly was not what I was expecting and hoping for.
At least the weekend wasn’t a total loss.
The warming temperatures rapidly dried the fields and pastures providing me with ample time to do what I always do – go play with the horses.
I’m still waiting for that storm. Maybe I should go pick up a cheap, poorly written novel.
“It was a dark and stormy night……….”