Tornadoes in Virginia?

By Sallie Satterthwaite
sallies@juno.com

When that irksome little test-buzzer comes on the radio with its ugly “Berrrp, berrrp, berrrp,” it's bad enough, despite the announcer's reassuring voice that tells us it's just an emergency test page, and then the instructions we've been drilled in for years son what to do. If you're in a car, pull over, get out, and lie in the ditch until the emergency is over. If you're in a building, seek the lowest floor and be ready to duck under the pool table.

We also know the difference between “tornado watch” and “tornado warning.” The first is mainly to get our attention. Be alert, it could get worse. And if it does, then the Weather Service guy bumps it up to a “warning.”

“Warning” means there's been a sighting of a tornado spinning its deadly black funnel cloud on the ground.

I've often thought about how I'd react to the real thing. In the first place, I purely cannot imagine getting out of a snug, dry, solid car and hurling myself into a roadside gutter possibly already brown with silt and cluttered with litter.

I simply can't imagine it. Even if the car were spun about and lifted up and thrown down, I can't believe it isn't safer than the roadside. My expertise, you understand, is neither from education or experience. It's just a strong hunch.

Well, I'm sure you see what's coming. I'll give you the outcome right now - all are well, safe and secure, more than we had reason to expect.

I was in Loudoun County, Va., with the grandchildren, while their mama went to work for two weeks with FEMA in Florida. Many agencies came together to get a grip on that situation, and the US Forest Service, Jean's erstwhile employer, was one of them.

Our son-in-law Brian is now teaching full time, and Esther, 16, has a nice after-school job at the Hallmark store. When asked me if I'd take her over to the shop, I hesitated only for a moment. That would leave Isaac, 11, and Samuel, 13 months old, at home by themselves, but I.wouldn't be gone 10 minutes. Isaac's very resourceful and knew that this was not a time to be funny.

This family does not have TV except in Jean and Brian's bedroom, so we had not even heard that Loudoun Co. was under a thunderstorm watch, much less a tornado watching. When Esther turned on the car radio, the news was that at least one twister was heading our way.

We took a back way through town to avoid the unbelievable Friday evening traffic glut on U.S.15 circumventing Leesburg, and Esther jumped out and ran through the rain that had begun about the time we left home.

I was halfway home, praying that I could remember where I needed to do the opposite turns we had done on the way to the shopping center.

And this is when they declared a tornado warning in Loudoun Co., Va. The sky was cloudy, but not black; the wind was not extreme. If there was a tornado in the neighborhood, he didn't make himself visible.

The voice on the radio became more urgent: “If you are driving a vehicle, pull over now and get out and get to the lowest place you can find.” I wondered if she had children at home too, and was worried sick about them.

I glanced at the drainage ditch, as nicely curved and mowed as one would expect of a road bisecting an upper-class sports complex.

Still, get out of Jean's Impala and lie down in that rushing stream? I don't think so. Kept watching for the typical black clouds, and curiously unfrightened, the only think I was worried about was whether Isaac also had the radio on, and was he worried.

My several prayers were answered: No tornado, a bit of rain, the front door unlocked so I wouldn't have to fiddle with keys, and as soon as I got inside, there was Isaac, holding his 30-pound baby brother, and ordering me sternly into the basement.

Down we went, he carrying Samuel and I pelting him with questions: How did you know to do this? Did you bring a bottle, or diapers? Is there a flashlight down here? How about water?

Most of his answers were right on, but I had to give Sam back to him while I made a quick run upstairs for some candles. We had my cell phone and one cordless house phone, and yes, thank goodness, we had a barely-functioning radio.

During the time it took for you to read the above, Jean and Brian called at least five times. Try holding a wriggling baby, scoop a place out of the stuff on the old couch, and hear a cell phone from this child's worried parents.

Jean was monitoring the situation from Jacksonville, I think, with all that fancy-Dan federal technology at her disposal, and Brian was on his way home from work, seeing firsthand what was going on outside. I don't think he saw a black cloud either, nor a funnel cloud.

There's an old TV set down in that mess- er, basement room - all right, I won't say messy - it's the kids' “whatever” room and they apparently like things less tidy than I do. Anyhow Brian had disabled that television so the kids could use it only to watch home-school tapes. It sure helped scratch my news-junkie itch when we could see how things were in the rest of the world.

Despite the meteorologists' frequent pushing ahead the end of the tornado warning - it started about 4 p.m. and was supposed to be gone by 5 - they kept moving it in half-hour increments until it was finally lifted about 7.

I wasn't scared, honest, I wasn't, but I did worry that the boys were. I was so proud of Isaac's taking over in the few minutes I was gone. Samuel is used to chaos when Isaac teases him; I suppose that's all this was for him.

Only one instant bothered me, and that was when the lights (and TV) went off. They were back on so quickly, if you had blinked you would have missed it.

Of such events memories are made. And with words I nail them down.