Hurricane Kirksville

Did you know there can be hurricanes in the middle of the Midwest?  I didn't - before Sunday.  But I've seen those idiotic intrepid reporters standing in Florida when a hurricane hits and that is exactly what it looked like out my window on Sunday night.  Well, minus the reporter.  At least there wasn't one closer to my house than the end of the driveway.  I couldn't see past there.

I looked up hurricane wind speed and to get from a Tropical Storm to a Hurricane you have to hit 74 mph.  Well, the news (before we lost power) says that there were 70 mph gusts in our thunderstorm, but I'm fairly certain I saw one get up to 74 mph.  And ignoring all those pesky requirements of a hurricane "originating near the equatorial regions of the Atlantic Ocean or Caribbean Sea", yada yada, the third definition was "Something resembling a hurricane in force or speed."  So we're declaring it at CATEGORY ONE HURRICANE!

Around midnight Sunday night we were awakened by some serious thunder and lightning and since we knew a storm was on its way, we headed downstairs to check the radar and see if there were any annoying middle-of-the-night tornadoes coming.  (Side note:  I'm still a Colorado girl.  Thunderstorms should come reliably between 3pm and 5pm on hot summer days.  They should NOT be allowed to build up across Kansas all day and hit my house in the middle of the night.  That just makes them creepy.)

We didn't make it to the computer right away because we were transfixed by the scene out our big front window.  Or maybe the lack of scene.  We couldn't barely see the street and the big tree in our front yard was whipping around like its trunk was made of jello.  And we said clever things like, "Wow!  That's a lot of wind!"  and,  "Woah!  Look at that rain!"

But then the storm rolled its eyes at us and kicked itself up a notch.  Or maybe a dozen notches.  And we flinched.  Literally.  We both pulled back from the window and said, "OK!  Time to get the kids downstairs!"



So we chilled down in the basement while the kids had a blast being up in the middle of the nights playing with some light-saber type flashlights.  And then kept the flashlights out for the next 48 hours until power was restored.

There's something so awe-inspiring about a huge storm.  Both while it's going on and the next morning when you can see all the damage it did. Downright intimidating.

We, luckily had very little damage.  A big branch or two off our trees.  But quite a few of our neighbors had more.

Downed fences

Old, huge trees knocked down

And massive amounts of branches down clogging our creek and causing serious flooding.

And our neighbors new trampoline made a bid for freedom during the storm.  It managed to hop its own fence but was tripped up on the neighbor's.  Then it was mangled.

 

 

My kids are sad about the trampoline, remembering their one glorious experience of jumping on it.  I, however, am not sad.  I spent the two years minutes that they were on it in paroxysms of fear that my dear sweet children were about to be paralyzed.  So thank you Hurricane Kirksville that I no longer have to be the bad guy and come up with excuse after excuse as to why my kids can't go over there and jump.

So we survived the storm pretty well and I did learn that even after 48 hours of no power, I will still flip the light switch EVERY time I walk into my bathroom.  I'm like a well-trained monkey.