Growing up in the Midwest meant for an active and sometimes overly exciting spring. Throughout my childhood, I can remember practicing tornado drills in school. Marching single file – with textbooks diligently placed over our heads - as we lined the hallways of our brick 1970s-built school.
As the thunderstorms rolled through the area, we’d run to the windows in anticipation of the growing storm. Your mind would begin playing tricks on you - as you imagined the sky turning an emerald shade of green, searching for the elusive yet dangerous funnel cloud. The storms would always bring great energy that literally felt like pulses through the air. Inevitably, Mom and Dad would grab the flashlights and sleeping bags (and my brother and me) as we hustled down to the basement to ride out the storm.
The next morning, we’d all proceed cautiously to assess the damage. Were trees down or uprooted? Were there power outages in the area? Wrapped safely in the naivete of youth, I never really understood the financial ramifications of the storms. The storms were unpredictable, and the resulting losses to friends, family, and the community could be consoled, but never controlled.
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