I’ll be honest, I’ve debated writing about the tornadoes that passed through the area. I could talk about how a co-worker and I drove out during lunch to see the aftermath of the wreckage and the bar food we had at the only place to eat in a small town about eight miles to the north of our office, but it’s hard to talk about. Partially it’s because Joplin, Missouri showcases the devastation a tornado can cause better than anything I can show. Compared to that level of devastation, there were a few buildings that were torn apart, but nothing serious. No one died, which is incredible.
…Okay, I am going to write about the tornadoes after all. Even though the devastation isn’t as catastrophic as what happened in Joplin or even northern Minneapolis, I think the aftermath deserves to be described.
When I came home on the train, I’d heard rumors of a storm hitting the La Crosse area, followed by the train slowing down to the point where a stoned turtle could have outpaced us. Then I heard rumors that a tornado had touched down outside the La Crosse hospital. These rumors were confirmed as I drove through La Crosse, looking for a decent place to eat, and I saw police directing traffic through dead stoplights and power crews in their cherry pickers working on transformers to restore some power. Unlike how I think everyone who doesn’t personally know a public safety employee personally thinks of public safety employees, they appeared to not only be dead serious about their job, but they were also hard at work, as though they were trying to get things taken care of as soon as possible. It was kind of inspiring. Not quite at the level of “Soldiers planting a flag on Iwo Jima” inspiring, but the level of inspiring when you’d see your parent taking care of a leak in the bathroom when you were a kid. I realize this comparison may not be for all people, but when my dad was trying to stop a leak I knew that things would be all right. Eventually.
The drive back from La Crosse to Cresco was not nerve-wracking or concerning in any way. The weather was calm, the skies were clear, and I didn’t hear any mention of impending tornadoes. What I did hear on the radio were the reports that tornadoes had touched down in northern Minneapolis, killing one person. They had also touched down in the southeastern part of Minnesota.
At this point, I need to say that while the boundaries on the map clearly delineate southeastern Minnesota from northeastern Iowa, there’s almost no delineation in real life. People in Cresco go up to visit Rochester when they need a “big city” experience instead of Waterloo because it’s a half-hour closer. One person I knew at work commuted from Rochester to the office. The reason I am pointing this out is because when people on the radio mention southeastern Minnesota, northeastern Iowa is included almost all the time.
So it turned out that a tornado had come down and ripped through the area between Cresco and Chester, the next town north. There had been some property damage, but no one had been seriously injured or killed. This brought back memories of living in northern Michigan, where a tornado had passed within three miles of my parents’ house in 2007, turning acres and acres of forest into clear-cut areas in seconds. It included about 40 acres of an 80-acre property my parents owned, and it did give us a few years’ worth of firewood, but managed to leave the buildings on the property intact. From that point on, I have been amazed at how deadly air can be if it just moves fast enough.
Last week, one of my coworkers wanted to take a look at the scene and see the devastation. I agreed, since I had kind of wanted to myself. There’s something about disasters that draws people like a magnet to them. I think it’s the same intrinsic curiosity that horror writers so successfully tap into when they dare their readers to see what’s under the couch and how badly it can mutilate a human body. Or the often-used comparison of slowing down to see a traffic accident. You get the feeling of “But there for the grace of God go I,” and “Hey, my life’s pretty good!”
The first item on the stop was a bar in Chester that served lunch. The current special was goulash and green beans. Previous specials there have included tater tot hotdish (casserole), and drinks include Pepsi straight from the can. The reason we ate there, have eaten there, and will eat there in the future is because my coworker’s father-in-law or grandfather-in-law once owned the restaurant, so honoring the restaurant with our patronage is something of a point of pride. It must be interesting to have that kind of connection with a business. The closest I’ve ever come is seeing a line of Gottschalk’s department stores out west, before the company was liquidated. (I’m not making this up-- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gottschalks ) I should point out that whoever founded this line of department stores didn’t have any familial connection with me outside of the last name.
After lunch, we set out to explore the tornado’s path. There were a few areas that were notable enough to slow down and look—the house that had one wall completely gone was pretty interesting, and so was the barn that had collapsed due to the tornado. What really stood out for me, though, was that if you could get out and walk, tracing the tornado’s path would be easy. What is almost burned into my mind, though, are the copses of trees with paths cleared through them. It really accentuates how random and precise a tornado can be. I’ve seen movies and TV series where a giant laser carves a path through a city, doing all sorts of untold damage, and as I was looking at certain buildings collapsed while others ten feet away were untouched, some trees uprooted while others were untouched, I realized the capacity for a death ray already exists—and we’re breathing it.
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