Early Thursday morning the ragtag winds outside of Hurricane Ian began to rustle the leaves outside our bedroom window. It was a cool wind, which woke me up as I wondered if I had put enough blankets out for the girls, and had me (gulp) test out our central heating system.
It has some age on it, so I figured I would give it a whirl while the husband who works on such things was still at home, albeit asleep. Setting the thermostat from A/C to HEAT took a leap of faith that it would be cool for a while, and I heard the old girl wheeze a bit, just a bit. I tried again, and again. A male voice (being there is just one male in the house I knew who it was) said to wait 10 minutes before cutting it on again.
Oh. That was my reply, just an “Oh.” So I waited, at 5 in the morning, I waited, then tried again. Same wheezing. I heard a sigh and the words “well, it’s old, I figured we’d have to replace it.” Another “oh.” I said, “maybe you should kick it.” What he heard was “fix it.” Stating he probably could fix it, I repeated, I said “kick it.” At the second “kick it,” it kicked on like it heard me threaten it with a good, swift kick.
Thinking it should be good to go, I went to go ahead and get the coffee and listen to the list of things that could be wrong with this gas heater. I jokingly asked “will it blow up?” The husband (so far) said “probably not,” and proceeded to get ready for work. Now, to say it “probably” won’t blow up as he is leaving the house is not the best idea as I questioned him a few more times while turning the thermostat to “off.” I’m thinking a new one might not be a bad idea.
As the morning wore on, the hurricane driven winds upped their game a bit and my trip to the mailbox had me checking for dead limbs in the trees I was walking under. There were magnolia leaves scattered about the front yard, the part of the front yard that the magnolia tree was not in. That magnolia tree has been in our yard exactly as long as I have lived here, as a magnolia tree was the first thing I insisted we plant when we planted ourselves on this land.
It was one thing I knew of the South at the time, and by golly I was going to have a magnolia tree in front of my house. It’s a huge and bushy tree now, far from the small seedling we planted some 40 years ago, and I don’t do the “trimming” of my magnolia tree. She worked to grow that much, I owed it to her to let her go ahead and grow.
Also scattered about the yard are oak leaves, sweet gum leaves, pecan leaves, enough pine tree branches to build a decent sized fort, all up and down the yard and on into the roadway. The winds haven’t brought rain yet, but they are doing a good job scattering bits and pieces of trees all about. Now, I have yet to see a volunteer magnolia tree appear in my yard, but I have about 6 volunteer crape myrtles, three volunteer apple trees and four volunteer pecan trees. I would guess that I have winds like this one to thank for scattering those leaves and branches and seeds to the far corners of our little spot, sometimes letting one take root and grow. I try not to cut down the volunteer trees, unless they are where a car is parked. Other than that, I kind of enjoy that scattering of trees about the yard, trying to judge which big wind brought this apple tree or that pecan tree.
From the forecast, I feel like our far neighbors may get a volunteer tree or two from our yard as these winds are starting to gust a bit more as the hours pass. Watching the weather and the wind, I can’t help but think that hurricane winds were not something I ever thought I would have to worry about. Ever. Tornado winds? Well, yes, I knew to worry about those. I can pretty much still tell tornado weather from regular storm weather without a weatherman telling me I need to worry. I know that grayish green, that eerie quiet that tells me this could be more than a thunderstorm. There’s a feeling to the air when it’s tornado weather, and once you know it, you never forget it.
Hurricanes are different. You know this is from the hurricane, not because the wind is different, but because you see the hurricane on the radar, it doesn’t sneak up on you like a tornado sneaks up on you. These beginning of the hurricane winds have me picking up off the deck anything I don’t want scattered into the yard, as I know the winds are only going to pick up speed as the day wears on and night falls.
Some schools are already calling for Friday off, the Friday night football game here has been cancelled, kids are scattering like these leaves to find something else to do on Friday night, in the South, without a football game. I saw them on their phones last night gathering ideas from friends, looking for rides, planning something, anything, they can do besides wander around at the football stadium, glancing at the scoreboard once or twice, but basically just wandering around the stadium. I hesitantly mention that maybe they should just stay home and hunker down as we might, just might, have bad weather, since they cancelled the football game. Cancelling football is right up there with closing Waffle House as a hint that maybe we should just stay inside.
I caught a couple of funny looks as the girls picked up their phones, their blankets, their books and headed to their bedrooms to continue the discussions of activities in their rooms, far from Grandma listening to their calls.
This morning, as they surveyed the scattering of leaves as we got into the car for the drive to school, they asked if there would be school the next day. Well, probably. But if it’s bad, there won’t be, right? Well, maybe. But if it’s bad you’ll come get us early, right? Well, yes, yes, I will. I have picked up kids from school at the first hint of a snowflake, at the first greenish glow in the sky, at the first alert for severe weather, I’m one of those “moms” in the office getting my kiddos out of school and home with me.
So today, Thursday, I’m watching the leaves fly past the windows, scattering perhaps volunteer trees where I didn’t even know I wanted one. Those leaves remind me of our kids, all of ours, and us. The “us” that scattered from our homes in Iowa and landed somewhere else, planting trees and children in cities and states far from Fort Madison, Iowa. I know some of mine may scatter farther than I like, as I did, and while I wish them all the happiness if that’s what they choose, the selfish me wants them closer. It’s a complicated thought that parents and grandparents have wrestled with since the very first child grew up and left home. Like leaves tossed in the hurricane, people, too, are sometimes tossed about until they land somewhere and begin to grow.
It’s a funny thing, this scattering business. I had a letter forwarded to me by Robin at the Democrat. It was unopened and the return address was a name I didn’t recognize and an address in Washington State. Hmmm. I was undoubtedly curious as I opened the envelope and read a letter from a gentleman I didn’t know. He and his wife had been discussing “The Sloop John B.” for reasons he did not disclose, but then, again, I know how those weird discussions work, and he stated that a “Google” search for the Sloop John B brought him to a column I had written over a year ago. He stated how much he enjoyed the information and what a fun read it was, telling me it had made his day. Well, of course I then had to Google the Sloop John B, and yep, there on the first page of Google was the link to my article in the Democrat.
I thought how scattered we are in this world, how far apart, and yet, a song by the Beach Boys brought the newspaper in Iowa to the transplant in Georgia to the gentleman and his wife in Washington State. We aren’t near as far apart as we think we are. So go ahead, I guess, kiddos. Go scatter, find a place, or find your way back here, whichever way the winds choose to scatter you, but be sure to leave a volunteer something everywhere you go. A word, a deed, a thought. Something. I’m learning even at this age, that it does indeed, come back to you.
Stay safe. Stay well. I can’t help but smile a bit at the thought that Google apparently thinks I’m an expert on the Sloop John B. Now where is my Beach Boys CD.
Kay LeRoy is a Fort Madison native and the daughter of the late Dick and Mary Ann Fleckenstein. She now lives in Georgia.