I’ve updated and reposted this as this year’s hurricane season brings so much news about wind and rain. It’s another reminder of our connection with Nature and lessons she can teach us. The lesson here: Bad storms come—in weather and in life. But they never last forever.
I took a break from the computer and was about to open the door to walk up the long driveway to the mailbox when I heard it—the ominous rumble of thunder and its warning of a storm moving in. I’d been so immersed in my work, I hadn’t noticed the storm clouds gathering and blotting out the sun. Above me, they roiled, dark and menacing.
Have I got time to get to the mailbox and back before all hell breaks loose?
I took off down the drive towards the barn, feeling the rush of adrenaline that comes when I’m a little scared, enjoying the wind picking up around me. Growing up on a farm, I always found storms a bit thrilling, especially from the safety of a screen porch. I could almost hear my Georgia-born grandmother’s sweet, comforting voice saying, “That big noise is just the thunder baby crying.”
As the storm bore down, I became acutely aware of everything around me as I snatched the mail out of the box. The sound of the wind in the pine trees had gone from soothing to threatening as I hurried back towards the house. The tree branches swayed wildly, and leaves began swirling around me. My neighbor’s rooster crowed in the middle of the day. Birds suddenly seemed to be flying towards trees and shrubs, undoubtedly seeking shelter and reminding me I should do the same.
The earthy scent of summer rain filled the air even before I could feel it. My quick pace turned into a jog as the drops began to fall. A crack of thunder sounded close as I stepped into the safety of my kitchen. Then the deluge began, quickly overflowing our gutters and creating waterfalls down to the patio.
The older I get, the more I find that Nature’s gifts—be they peaceful or unsettling—connect me with the past and, often, with feelings deep inside. The storm’s display of power reminds me I’m not the center of the universe, and suddenly my worries and anxieties seem less important.
The natural world is a treasure trove of lessons and metaphors for life. Storms blow in and disrupt our happiness, but the sun always comes out after the storm passes through, ready to dry our tears and warm the chill in our souls.
I want to remember this the next time I feel a storm comin’ in.
Does the sound of thunder or the change in the air of an oncoming storm bring back childhood memories or unique emotions for you? I’d love to hear about it in the comments below.
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[Excerpts from this post were read at a public reading sponsored by VECCA on September 5, 2019, at the 7 Bends Gallery in Woodstock, VA.]
Writing To An Elected Official: A Heartspoken Guide
Good morning Elizabeth ~ On Labor Day. I came to your site for a connection this morning. I am hoping to begin writing again. My work is self-published and I am so very shy about getting it out to the world. However, here is a snippet of the Gratefulness book inspired by Brother David Steindl-Rast and Anthony Chavez, III workshop on Kauai last summer.
“When we are meeting rain here, we allow it to be. We enjoy the blessing and sweet sound of thousands of droplets gently beating on a canvas tent, a thin rivulet streaming off one edge of the canopy and connecting with the gravel. Many of our structures are open sided – no walls- yet protected overhead from the rain. Sitting at a wooden picnic table, our view to the horizon is unobstructed. We hear and see it all. Warm. Dry. Happy. And at one with water.”
I could use encouragement today on the writing life and connecting to the world through words and pictures.
What a lovely a vivid description of the rain in Hawaii, Pamela — I felt both the tropical setting and the spiritual connection you were experiencing with the sight and sound of that falling water.
Don’t be shy about your writing — just make it as genuine and authentic as possible and you will find your audience. Very few writers who write from the soul make enough to support themselves, but they have the satisfaction of knowing the are honoring the creativity within that needs to be given birth.
Excellent comment by Pamela. I’ve experienced the tropical rainstorms in Kauai that Pamela describes so beautifully. They are spiritual and riveting and when they occur, I feel as if time has stopped. At least for that little while, while the “thousands of droplets beat down.” xo
Oh, I was there with you Elizabeth as you watched the storm barrel through. When I was a child and teenager in NJ, I used to only enjoy a good summer storm: the sound of the lightening and thunder approaching, the stillness of nature as it seemed to pause and wait; the smell of the approaching rain, and then the sounds of hard rain hitting ground and roofs and, it seemed, hitting inside us. Now after a few years in NE (in CA we rarely had these storms) I’ve learned that there’s danger here too. But to be honest, I never get that adrenaline rush of worry. I still get the adrenaline rush of ‘can’t wait to watch Mother Nature have a bit of a hissy fit.’ 🙂
Yes, yes, yes! There IS a thrill to watching Mother Nature have a hissy fit! Love that expression. Also recognized the beautiful line you wrote: “the stillness of nature as it seemed to pause and wait…” That is such a vivid and true observation.
I, too, love exciting weather, and reading this also made me think of a pop song from 20+ years ago that I used to like called “I Love a Rainy Night.” Many storms sort of clear the air and carry an implied promise that what is coming after is something good. The change of ions in the air can feel good, too, as can, as you mentioned, that safe and snuggly feeling when the storm is raging outside but you’re just fine & dandy inside. As long as people aren’t losing their lives due to the storm, I’m all for it.
You’re right that we’ve focused on the good side of a thunderstorm, and sometimes these storms are absolutely devastating and horrific. I’m glad that thinking about a non-threatening summer storm made you remember that terrific song. I remember it well too.
Elizabeth – So glad you took that break from the computer just in time to experience Mother Nature’s threats and warnings. Your word evoked memories of watching stunning lightning storms at the Jersey shore with my grandson, some two decades ago. I wonder if he remembers. Thank you for capturing your thoughts and deeds of that day, and for sharing this moment.
I’ll bet he does remember — if not every detail, at least the feeling of being with you and being safe from the storm. Thanks so much for sharing that lovely memory!
When Keith and I moved with our kids into our new home on the Shenandoah River (circa 1988), we learned a whole new way of living. A flooded low water bridge either meant walking the footbridge or having a great excuse for taking the day off and enjoying being at home. Our home sits high on a bluff overlooking the river with low-lying farmland across the river. Some of my most treasured memories of those summer storms involves my Mom, Daisy Racey. She loved to sit at our house and watch (and hear) the storm come rolling across the farmland, the river, and the up the bluff to our house. There is not a storm that comes rumbling up the bluff that I don’t think of her and the pure pleasure she derived from the storm.
What a wonderful memory, Lillian! You took me right with you to that porch, next to your Mom, with the storm rolling in. I’m touched that so many people have memories associated with thunderstorms.
I love a good storm! As long as I can be inside or on a good wide porch. I love to watch lightening too. So amazing. And the sunrise or sunset after a good blow is amazing as well. They are short-lived, and make you appreciate the beauty after. Storms are short lived – weather-wise and life-wise. Sometimes you just have to hunker down and cover your head. I never thought I’d recover after being wiped out in the flood, but I did. And I appreciate people more now, and care less about “things.”
Karen, thank you for this perfect example of the imagery and lesson I was trying to convey. It’s true that the weather, including sunrise and sunset, can be particularly exquisite after a storm has passed through.
And those times of hunkering down do, indeed, make us appreciate people instead of things, don’t they? I’ll never forget the big flood her in 1996 when the water from the river was rising and we stayed up all night moving furniture from the ground floor to a higher level. At one point I realized that since my family was okay, whatever happened with the house would pale in comparison. “Things” can be replaced. People can’t.
Fortunately, the river crested within four inches of getting in. Our basement filled with water, but the main house was spared.
For so long, a thunderstorm blowing up and tearing holes in the sky brought back memories of an old house where we lived outside Des Moines when I was a child. I loved that old house but mostly I loved standing on the porch with my mother after the storm blew through, watching the setting sun appear from below the clouds. Mother has been gone so long now those memories have faded but they’ve been replaced by those of another front porch, a swing, and a grandson waiting beside me for the thunder to be over so he could dance in the rain.
“…tearing holes in the sky…” What a vivid image! And such a beautiful reminder of the way childhood memories morph into the creation of new memories with a new generation. Dancing in the rain is what we should all aspire to after we’ve been through a dark place in our lives. Thank you for this wonderful reflection, Esther!