–Calm Before The Storm, sunset at the Brookview Park Ice Cream Social, August 2007, Minneapolis, Minnesota, photo © 2007 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
The power went out at 11p.m. Monday night. A ferocious storm raged through the Twin Cities, the second in three days. Cloud to ground lightning flashed continuously every few seconds. Thunder rolled, hail pelted the air conditioner, the wind whipped rain across the deck boards.
I was posting this photo to Flickr when the lights blinked on and off a few times and boom! – nothing but dark. Except for the heat lightning. Liz describes this kind of storm as the disco ball effect. She says it in her warmest weatherwoman tone as if she was saying temperature inversion or greenhouse effect. The storm last Saturday night woke me up out of a dead sleep. Liz was already awake chanting, “disco ball, disco ball,” in my ear. It took me a groggy minute to figure out what she was talking about.
But by Monday night, I needed no explanation. Between strikes, I lit the three-wick candle on the bureau. Smoke from the long stemmed match set off the fire alarm above me. Liz ran in to see what was going on and we bumped into each other trying to reach the alarm. We cracked each other up as we vigorously waved our arms below the blinking ceiling orb, hoping to dissipate the smoke. “What *else* is going to happen!” we laughed.
Finally, things settled down. The three cats hid under the bed, we grabbed two flashlights off the shelves, turned off anything that had been running on electricity, found our battery operated radio, and listened to the weather report. It didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.
A few hours earlier, we had attended a community ice cream social at Brookview Park. A 9 piece polka band, the Jolly Czechs (this is Minnesota after all!), played for a large crowd of all ages, while we strolled along the edge of the pond taking photographs. The storm clouds were already rolling in when everyone stood up from their lawn chairs to sing along, hand over heart, to the Jolly Czechs finale – America the Beautiful. Or was it God Bless America?
The sunset in the photograph is the calm before the storm, the third of three photographs I was uploading when my laptop ground to a halt. The recent heat-hazed skies, high humidity, and violent storms have made for some great photography this summer. But I didn’t feel like shooting the storm.
After we had the candles in place and the fire alarm stopped beeping, we sat down on the couch by the window and stared out at the storm. Water rolled in torrents down the road, branches cracked and fell, we were nearly blinded by fiery flashes that backlit sheets of rain.
When we lose power, I suddenly feel disconnected to my everyday life of electronics, computers, fans, clocks, air conditioners, washers, dryers, and refrigerators. And tossed into the backwater of a time before electricity. There was a certain courage people had to have to brave the elements. Particularly in the Midwest, where winter storms could be life threatening.
I was thinking about Laura Ingalls Wilder when I curled up beside Liz and fell into complete and dark silence. Transformer down, wires crossed – everything stops. I prayed one of the leaning oaks didn’t fall forward over the house. And drifted off to sleep.
-posted on red Ravine, Wednesday, August 15th, 2007
Amazing photograph – it makes me feel like I’m there.
So does your description of the night of the storm. It’s a moment we can all relate to, yet you make it unique.
LikeLike
Thanks, mariacristina. I have always had this thing for storms – summer, winter, spring, or fall. I love them.
The sunset that night was hard to capture. When this shot was taken, it was eye-level on the horizon, and blinding. I shot straight into the sun and was so happy when the camera caught it even better than my eyes.
I’m appreciative of your comment. On both the photo and the story. It was such a beautiful summer evening.
LikeLike
The colors in that sky are gorgeous. I love the muted gray-pink of the area at the topmost part of the photo. I would like to reproduce that with paint.
I love storms, too, especially when I can watch them from inside. One of the things about which I have a morbid curiosity (and slightly unnatural fear of) is lightning strikes. I heard about a man in my town who was struck by lightning three times, all on his back porch. I will stay off phones during a lightning storm for fear the strike will come through the phone lines. I’ll stay away from large picture windows. I get freaked out if I have to jump out of the car during a lightning storm to open a gate, for example.
LikeLike
That gray-pink color is amazing. I didn’t know directly that it looked like that until I saw what the lens had captured. It would be cool to try to reproduce it with paint.
I have a kind of fear of lightning, too. I don’t take baths or showers during a storm for fear it will travel down the pipes. I don’t know where I got this. And is it even true?
The most scared I have ever been in a storm was on an almost month long canoe trip on the Nahanni River. We were in the middle of the river and the storm moved in quickly. All we could do was paddle to shore and stand frozen near a grove of trees for protection.
I’ll never forget how hard the rain was coming down in sweeping patterns across the river. And the lightning followed. It was quite scary.
LikeLike
On our son’s Grade 7 school camping weekend, many years ago up north, there was a tremendous storm and amazing lightning. It started after my husband and I were driving home (35 miles away) after helping cook dinner for the kids at camp. it was both exciting and frightening, and we feared for the children’s comfort, as they were tenting. My son later reported that they had spent an uncomfortable night, wet through, but he felt exhilerated terror throughout the storm.
As a family we have always been storm watchers it produces an elemental fascination for us, and a reminder of how powerful nature’s processes are.
Your photo is breathtaking! G
LikeLike
G, thanks! You hit the nail on the head in two places – elemental fascination and exhilarated terror. There is something humbling about knowing that you could be wiped out from the force of the wind or a crack of lightning, just like that. And at the same time, it creates amazing energy and adrenalin.
The cool thing about your son’s camping trip is that he was in a tent and really got to experience the power of nature. Think of all the people in today’s world who have never camped out or don’t ever spend time outside in nature. Where is their ground?
Maybe it would be a good exercise for all the high-level politicians to spend a weekend together in tents in the wilderness. Perhaps a storm of this nature would drive some humility their way. And help them to remember where they came from. (I just got a visual of this and it’s sure hard to imagine!) 8)
LikeLike
The photo is spectacular QM …
but what got me is the “Jolly Czechs”….I grew up with a Czech family and therefore was subjected to “Jolly All” and his Czech OOOMPAHH Band. He was large, his wife Bertha was really large and his voice was “Large”. I can still hear “Little Drummer Boy” sung in total monotone…” Come…they tooollllddd me…par-rump-pah-pah-pah” Yikes!!!
I hope you and Liz had a better experience with the Jolly Czechs. Or at least ate enough ice cream to feel better about it…and there’s always dancing the polka 🙂
LikeLike
The ice cream social does sound like a hoot, QM. Did you take any photos? Was it a neighborhood gathering? Any new and interesting neighbors that you didn’t know before?
LikeLike
I loved your description of the storm. We have not had much weather here in Southern Cali. I’m inland so it’s been hot and very hot. Last time I saw “weather” was when I went to the Grand Canyon and experienced some ground to sky lighting as you described.
LikeLike
Heather, the Jolly Czechs made me smile. I don’t know how to polka but I bet I could fake it! We had a great time at the ice cream social. I know what you mean about the monotone though. It’s true – that’s the way they sing it. I would have had no idea you grew up with a Czech family. The things you learn about people in blog world. 8)
LikeLike
ybonesy, it was indeed a community gathering. But one of the larger community here where I live. So it was bigger than a neighborhood gathering. But not as big as a city gathering.
The unfortunate thing is that the rain started to fall right after the sun set. That’s when they were serving the ice cream and when everyone might have mingled. And people were starting to scatter because the storm was moving in.
So there was a great turn out. But not as many people mingled as we all would have liked. Still – it felt like we were participating in community. And that felt good!
LikeLike
Estrella Luna, thanks for stopping by. I saw on your blog that you’d done quite a bit of travel. The Grand Canyon, I bet it has a ton of storm energy. I was there many moons ago, perhaps even 20 years now. I’ve heard it’s changed a lot since then. When I was there, we could still drive our cars up on the overlooks.
I’m surprised you don’t get much weather in inland Southern California. That’s hard for me to imagine. I love Minnesota for just that reason – the extremes in the weather and the seasons make it an exciting place to live.
Endless heat would be hard for me. Hope you are staying cool!
LikeLike
Nice post. Thanks for bringing me back to summer storms — we don’t have them here, and I miss them!
LikeLike
Thanks, elizabeth. Ah, another person with no summer storms! I’ve always lived places that had them. Except Georgia, I guess, where I don’t remember storms the way we get them in the West.
We did have them in Pennsylvania though. But nothing like Minnesota. I feel lucky to be able to experience them. They make me feel alive. And keep me awake!
LikeLike
QM…You haven’t really lived until you’ved Polka’d to
“Who stole the keishka from the butcher shop”
LikeLike
LOL. The polka sounds great. But I had to look up keishka. One definition was roasted fowl intestines with a seasoned filling of matzo meal and suet.
Hmmmmm? Have you had this, Heather? And what’s it taste like? One thing about the polka – everyone always smiles when they do it. 8)
P.S. When I was researching the word, I ran across this video. You won’t believe it, but it’s, you guessed it:
Who Stole the Keishka – keishka christmass special (LINK)
LikeLike
I think my husband just ran in here because he thought I was having a heart attack…with the howling….that was FANTASTIC!!!
I haven’t had the delicacy…no. Actually I never knew exactly what it was. The word “intestines”…kinda throws me off a bit…maybe if they made mine with just the matzo…like a biscuit.
My Czech friend’s Mother and I used to whirl around her living room to this polka. She had 8 children but apparently no one liked to polka. They would hide in their bedrooms. I loved it! She also taught me “the chicken dance” which I still do if someone plays it.
QM. thanks for the video…I must forward to my buddy.
LikeLike
That’s a gorgeous photo. The leaves are so detailed against the gold glow of the sky.
LikeLike
Thanks, amuirin. It was one of those wonder shots – in some ways unexpected. Thanks for stopping by today!
anuvue, glad you liked the video. Wish I could have heard you howl. And, my goodness, what’s the chicken dance?
LikeLike
Beautiful photo!!!!!!!!!!1
LikeLike
Mom, I almost missed this comment. Thank you! The light was so magical that summer day. This shot and the river birch tree really made my night.
I had not read this post in a while. When I just read back over it, it reminded me of a conversation Liz and I had this morning over coffee. We are supposed to have mind-numbing temperatures this weekend (the highs might only hit zero!), so we were talking about what her ancestors must have had to do to survive on their farm in North Dakota way back in the early 1800’s.
No lights, no electricity, no automatic heat. Wood stoves, candles and lanterns, hand generated energy, maybe some wind. I bet their morning routines were so much different than ours today. It must have been all about survival in the deep cold of these northern winters. Brrrrrr.
LikeLike
Speaking of storms…
I went with my nieces to the Twin Cities Marathon today, an event I would never in a million years participate in, but one I love to watch.
We were at Mile 5, a great place to stand because there weren’t many people. It began to drizzle, and then rain, and eventually it was pouring: an absolute deluge. Lots of the spectators ran for their cars, but Anna, Naomi, and I stood out in the weather with the runners. As John Steinbeck said, he didn’t want to live where there was climate, he wanted to live where there was weather.
These thousands of people had 21 more miles to run, and it was inspiring to watch their determination. Because the race ends at the state capitol, I started cheering, “On to the Capitol! On to St. Paul!” It felt dizzyingly patriotic.
LikeLike
Oh, Teri, I love this post about braving the elements with the Jolly Czechs. 8) Thanks for reviving it.
Liz and I were just talking about the marathon this morning and wondering if people were getting rained on. I didn’t know you liked to attend. How come you never took up running? I can kind of see you getting into the rhythm of it and the being out in nature part.
It’s so great that you stood in the deluge of rain with the runners and cheered everyone on. I have so much respect for everyday athletes of that caliber. Love the Steinbeck quote.
LikeLike
You’ve named my reason for loving to watch the Marathon: respect for the runners. What I witnessed today is not unlike what writers contend with. You spend months at something, submit it, and then it flops. For the less-athletic at the end of the pack, it was obvious they weren’t going to be able to mentally endure being pelted by rain until they reached the Capitol. And they’ve clocked hundreds of hours in training. They’ll have to decide tomorrow: do I dust myself off and try again, or is it over?
I was a serious runner during college, and even started training for the Marathon when I was about 22. I built up my endurance and tried my hand at a half-marathon. I never ran again. For me, it was terrible.
LikeLike
I tried running, too, when I hit about 30. I was in great shape and down to a good weight. I ran a short 5k race (real short, I know, but a long distance for me) and found that I, too, did not like it. I found it jarring to my body after a while.
I like what you say about comparing the practice of writing to the practice of running. It is a new decision every day in writing, whether to get up, dust off, and keep going. So far, I keep saying yes.
LikeLike