Tornado Warning in a Tiny Home

We’ve only been in Kansas 30 hours, and I’m terrified.

Shaking.

We’re right on a lake, surrounded by fields. It’s dark outside, save for the flashing lightning, slicing reckless zigzags across the sky.

In every direction.

I’ve received two emergency alerts on my phone, and don’t know which is worse: the baseball sized hail? Or the tornado warning, commanding me to get into a basement. These instructions include many exclamation points and words in all caps: DESTRUCTION! NOW!

Unfortunately, a basement was not part of our build.

Since it’s dark, I can barely see what could be a tornado. It appears to be a mere field or two away.

Flashing blue and red lights appear outside.

“It’s the fire department,” I say, trembling.

Chad and I rush out.

“We’re just checking to see who’s here.”

So they know who to look for, I think, after.

“If it gets any closer, you guys need to shelter over at the outhouse.” The fire guy points to a small beehive shaped stone hut, about 150 yards away. According to a plaque that I’d read earlier that day – in a much more relaxed state – it was built in the 1930s. I’d had a good laugh at the side-by-side toilet seats, but now realize: Kansas will scare the shit out of you, and at least in there, we’d both have a seat.

“Thank you,” I say, but what I want to say is this: HELP! WE’RE FROM CALIFORNIA AND DON’T KNOW WHAT WE’RE DOING AND I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO SHOVE MY CAT INTO A BACKPACK AND RUN TOWARD THE TORNADO TO SEEK SHELTER IN A HUT WITH NO DOOR, AND IT’S DARK AND WE CAN’T SEE AND WHEN DO WE KNOW THAT WE NEED TO RUN????

The wind picks up, kicking up dust with its force.

We dart inside, and close the windows.

Chad, who’s spent time in Oklahoma, is much more relaxed than I.

“It’s not heading directly for us,” he consoles, showing me his phone. The weather app depicts an angry red and purple amoeba-like cell, undulating its way across the screen. I fixate on the part of red that brushes up against us. We’re this tiny blue dot, and it glances over us in a very intrusive manner. This unwelcomed touch will happen within the next half-hour.

As our tiny home bucks and shakes in the wind, I set about tidying. Cleaning: my tried-and-true default when stressed. I’ve cleaned my way through forest fires, and now this.

My stomach is a mass of tightly clenched fists, trying to punch their way out.

Nevertheless, I boil water for dishes.

While I wait for the water to get hot, I put things away. Gather my books, put Tim’s Salt & Vinegar potato chips back under the bench seat, all the while picturing a tornado undoing all my efforts.

I mull over the demeanor of the fire guys. Did they seem stressed? One had cracked a joke, was it in a we’re all going to die, so let’s have fun way? Or was it more of a welcome to a Tuesday night in Kansas way?

But personality also plays into how people handle stress, and obviously I had no history with the guy. Plus, he’s not a weather expert – I don’t think, so his take really has no bearing on the overall situation.

My mind then lands on the Kansas state motto, Ad astra per aspera, which apparently means, to the stars, through difficulties.

Please, no!

Dishes washed, it’s on to the next task. A bunch of small bugs which look like a mixture of gnat, mosquito, and fly have slipped inside, attracted to the light no doubt.

I wad up some paper towel and began to crush them before realizing, I’m literally in the process of killing while hoping not to be killed.

They dart around, like my mind – I hope my picking them off isn’t tied to some sort of complex Karma system – oh, the places it goes when terrified and scrambling.

“How does anyone even sleep in this state?” I ask Chad, thinking how blissfully unaware I’d been the night before, what a fool. Imagine! Letting my guard down enough to fall asleep.

It takes a while for calm; I think the storm wears itself out before I do.

I’m left to think about my reaction. Perhaps normal and understandable to a degree, having never been faced with this before.

But there’s also a control element, borne of anxiety. Where I can’t let go of high-strung anxiousness or let my guard down, because that’s when the bad stuff happens!

As if I’m “controlling” the outcome by spinning out, creating my own internal tornado of sorts, fueled by panic. An obviously miserable and fruitless endeavor. You never want to be caught with your pants down, my mind tells me, both figuratively and literally. I had to pee during the whole hours’ long ordeal.

But there is something I can control – I think – here, there, and everywhere.

*My reaction.

Challenge accepted!

_{*This is something I was aware of before, and will likely need to be reminded of again. Many, many times.}

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