Last night's gully washer

 

I used to say that here, in northwest Iowa, the weather--no matter what the specifics--always comes in spades. That's overstatement, of course, but somehow people let me by with it because they knew that the sentiment wasn't wrong. High winds came by early this spring, and the trees--those still standing--still look battle weary. It's true we haven't had a real rock 'em, sock 'em blizzard for a few winters, but all that means is that the chances of getting one this year are better than ever. 

We've just about put behind us the hottest summer on record, but the heat continues--it's supposed to be 90 today. One of the handiest ways to describe northwest Iowa weather is the line about having only two seasons here, winter and July 4.

Last night I was awakened twice by a thundering-huge gully washer, one of them featuring the distinct splatter of hail. We no longer live out in the country, where you really can't help feeling that real drama like last night's, weather-wise, is meant personally. You start asking yourself what you've been doing to deserve the tongue-lashing or the fisticuffs from heavy-laden skies. 

Storms won't strand us here in our new little fortress community, won't make us feel picked out or on--the neighbor to the right is a wall away. When those to the left use the bathroom late at night, the light streams in our bedroom. 

No matter. I've officially passed through the age when I found Iowa storms a blast. I've been victimized. Whether I have PTSD or not is a question some psychologist would have to determine, but last night when the rain came and the hail banged on the windows, I cowered a little because even today, a year and a half or more since we entertained the Floyd River--four or five feet of it--in our walkout basement, I get edgy in a gully-washer. I'll admit it. 

There are perfectly good reasons not to live in northwest Iowa, but, just the same, the weather isn't one of them. Not really. 

This morning outside our window, the sun colors the grass in bright emerald, enrobes our lawn in royal green like the queen's carpet. The trees--some of them still bearing the scars of that spring wind--are dappled in the Midas touch of early morning sunshine.

Once upon a time, my Schaap great-grandparents lived here in a world far more like the one we left behind. I'm sure they remembered the gray skies of their island home on Terschelling, the Netherlands. I'm guessing that must have been greatly taken with abundant clear skies over the prairie. 

We're on our way to fall right now, even though it feels for all the world like and extended summer. Soon enough I'll get out sweat pants again--and a sweatshirt untouched for months.

I'm not complaining. Many moons ago, we could have stayed in the heat of Arizona.

 For the record, it's supposed to be 90 today, with a chance of storms again tonight.

We'll be okay.