Queen's Line Tornado 2007

 

I love severe weather. I love writing. And I particularly love writing about severe weather. 

The open range of the Queen's Line, being, as you know, so much in the heart of the Ottawa Valley that it IS the Heart of the Ottawa Valley, has always led to some interesting weather. The valley and particularly the Ottawa River seem to draw storms. We've had some dandies over the years. The worst looking one I already wrote about. The one I'm about to describe here was the most destructive in my memory. 

That late July 2007 day started off like any other typical summer day on a Queen's Line farm; sunny, warm, and increasingly humid. Green grass and blue sky and fresh air. The one thing different was the sound; the sound of three sets of heavy hooves pounding and loud, restless whinnies. King's big Belgiun horses next farm down were not themselves. Not at all. Normally very docile and languid, today they were galloping the full length of their pasture, up and down, non-stop. I had never seen them do that before. They made a sound like thunder as they ran on the other side of our line fence, roughly three abreast, kicking up their heels and putting their heads down and shaking them about. There is 'feeling their oats', but this was different. They just weren't settled. It was strange, but I didn't know horses enough to know they were probably sensing something. Or even trying to tell us something.

Eventually they seemed to calm down a bit. In hindsight, they simply wore themselves out. It was likely exhaustion from running their huge carcasses for miles and miles only slowing down enough to turn around at the ends of the long pasture. 

The day went on, and a storm was forecast. The forecast turned to a 'yellow' storm watch. Then it turned to a 'red' storm warning. 

As any other typical day, Brenda and I were in the office behind the house. She was relaxing sideways on the couch watching TV with George lazily sprawled out over her like a fur blanket; a muscular, very self-possessed fur blanket. George was our big, powerful, white with tabby patches, cool, confident, and very dominate tomcat. 

Indulge me here while I sing the praises of my all time favorite feline:

George, Corie, Tigger, and Misty's mother's name was Twinkie. So, when they were kittens, the joke was, "Someone got their dinky winky in our Twinkie, so now we've got dinky winky Twinkies!"  Brenda's Mom spewed her after supper tea across the living room when I said that to her. I always tried to time my best cracks for when she had taken a drink. It added nicely to the effect. 

George was polydactyl, with 6 toes (and definitely claws!) on his front paws, and 5 on his rear ones. The most interesting thing about his paws wasn't actually their size. No, it was the fact that his front ones were each equipped with an incredibly prehensile 'thumb'. I loved 'handing' George a pen or a pencil. He'd wrap an amazingly dextrous 'thumb' around it and hold it there with a casual ease like he was thinking about something he was going to write down as a memo. He was even ambidextrous. It didn't matter which paw you offered the pen to, he'd deftly take it and idly hang on to it for you. Sometimes he'd take a bit of an interest in it and give it a crushing gnaw with his big white teeth and fangs, but usually he just amicably held it there for you. Typically not far from my computer, he was quite useful that way. Besides his huge paws, he had one eye bigger than the other. It all added up to one unforgettable feline character. I affectionately called him "our mutant-footed freak". Georgie went away a lot but he never came back any worse for wear no matter the weather or time of the year or both. Or who he met. Or really who had the misfortune to meet him. He had serious street smarts as he always looked both ways before crossing our pet-deadly Queen's Line. When all was clear, he'd then romp across it in just a few of his huge, powerful, lunging strides. Then it was back to his signature, easy, plod, plod, plod, padding walk, with one of those big feet crossing over the other each step as his big, strong shoulders alternately humped from side to side. He was a handsome fellow, probably more from his always totally in control demeanor than the sum of his actual looks. George was a Lover of the Ladies and the Terror of the Toms. The big brute was fair, though, and only asserted himself at home whenever the need presented itself. And only for the moment it took for his Top Cat status to be once again held in no dispute whatsoever. Nobody wanted a piece of George. Then it was immediately back to a calm, relaxed coolness that Elvis could only aspire to attain. He was something else. No cat ever owned my heart like George. 

Anyway, they were there, and I was working at tractor parts orders. Summertime was always a slow and easy time, so the orders were at a very manageable level. I kept looking at my weather site, and checking the view out our big office picture window to the NorthWest. Bennett's had recently sold the 'Guest Place' to Wytenburg's down the road, and I always liked the approaching weather view or sunset over their barn and silo. I never saw more beautiful, picturesque farmscapes than the orange, glowing sun going down behind that barn and silo. It was picture perfect. 

Presently this day, around 2:30, the sky started to darken over and behind the barn. The wind picked up and the air cooled down. There was a good one coming. This storm was coming in noticeably faster than others had. It was a mover. 

Our office picture window was great for watching storms. Because the couch was right there under it and the same length as it, we could be on our knees on the couch with our elbows or forearms resting on the windowsill and watch with a wide view. The glass was wired, so it was very safe from breaking if anything hit it as well. 

Today, however, started out differently, and was different. Something was peculiar. Checking the weather site again provided a particular excitement to me: a yellow tornado watch. Hey, this is great! 

The storm approached, and quickly became very strong and blustery. The wind was powerful, and flattened the hay in the field between us and Wytenburg's. While Brenda loved beautiful sunsets and cloud formations and the sight of large snowflakes falling in front of the light in the upstairs bathroom window like a living snow globe, she didn't share my love for scary weather one bit. Whenever she was nervous, Brenda would start yammering. She was always much more a listener than a lecturer, but when she became nervous and apprehensive, she talked rapidly and steadily. 

As the storm laid into us, it was very apparent this was more than a run of the mill thunderstorm. We'd been through several storms together in the shop, and they just came and went. This  one was different. There was a sudden intensity that presented itself that wasn't normally there. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled and boomed. The thing that really caught our attention as far beyond the usual was the strong, steadily arcing stream of water like a little fountain boy peeing, that squirted out of the wall under the the East corner of the window, past the end of the couch and four feet into the room. Brenda started yammering. "It shouldn't be doing that should it, Puppy? Why's it coming in like that? It shouldn't be coming in like that, should it?" 

No it shouldn't, KittyKat. 

It certainly should not. Snow white hail started, and blasted the building with a rattling sound. Ok, it's ON. Brenda was yammering full tilt now, like a teletype machine in a big city newsroom, her big green eyes larger than ever. Suddenly I silently thrust my hand up to stop her. Two things had happened simultaneously; I felt a precipitous drop in air pressure, and I heard a low "whoooooo" sound edged with a very slight whine that I pinpointed as above and behind the shop that wasn't there before. As shockingly violent and brutish as it sounds, I was about to throw her to the floor by her hair, throw myself on top of her, and pull the couch over onto the two of us. Harsh? Yes, very. I'd never lay a finger on her in anger! But this wasn't anger and there was an implicit reason for it. That air pressure drop and sound was a tornado. No question about it. I had studied more than enough severe weather to know that the speed of the approach, the solid wall of wind, the hail, the drop in air pressure, and that distant 'freight train' sound were big trouble, close by. 

It was all over before I even had time to react. The wind died down, the rain stopped almost like turning off a tap, and the sky very quickly brightened. It was so fast I could hardly believe it. I had seen a lot of storms over my 41 years, and none of them had ever ended so suddenly. I ventured outside onto our step, spotted with white hailstones. They had an intense, almost platinum glow in the brilliant post-storm sunlight. I always liked the look of a passing storm as it went down the road over MacKays and Afelskie's. This time though I thought I might catch a fleeting glimpse of a funnel cloud. And I might have. I thought I saw the lighter coloured snapping tail of a twister disappear upwards into the darker cloud that fostered it, but I didn't have my glasses on and didn't trust my eyes. I was looking so hard for it, that I may have seen what wasn't actually there. I don't know for sure. 

I did catch more than a glimpse of more than I was bargaining for, though.

I was standing there, mouth agape, looking at a strange new landscape. I had looked at this view countless times in my 4 decades on that farm from infancy 'til now. Something was very, very different. MacKay's, and formerly Gilmour's, handsome L-shaped barn, which had been there all my life, just wasn't anymore. It was gone. Just plain gone. The large, weathered side of it and high hip roof that always greeted my SouthWest gaze was now open field. But something else was wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it yet, but, even though the view was new to me, something wasn't right... 

"Kittykat, King's barn is gone!"

"Get outta here..." From inside the office, she thought I was kidding. Having one on her as usual.

"No, I mean it--King's barn is gone!"

"Get adda here..." She really, truly thought I was kidding.

"GET OUT HERE!"

Brenda came outside, and stood beside me with her back to the strong mid-afternoon sun, and looked towards the distant, unbelievably fast retreating storm as her mouth dropped open: "Holy sh**..." 

We could see a lot more of the back side of the storm than we ever could before.

"I told you!" 

That scene was new, but... And then it came to me: if King's big barn was gone, I should now be seeing Afelskie's barn, next farm down the road... but it wasn't there either! "Ambrose's barn is gone!"

"Holy sh**!!"

"I can't believe it... " My two next door neighbour's barns had both been wiped right out in moments. It wasn't more than a minute from when I heard the "whooooooo..." until I stepped outside and a barn half a mile away was gone and there was no sign of the thief that took it. How fast that thing must have been travelling! 

Brenda and I stood there in completely stunned, shocked silence, as the realization dawned on us how close we came to not being here anymore either. 

I put my arm around her shoulder and drew her close, as she leaned in to me with her arm around my waist, visibly shaken by what she was taking in. I was angry with myself for having failed to act. I knew better, and had once again let my stupid weather fascination get the best of me. It was one thing when I was alone, but completely another when I had someone else to look out for. I could have cost us our lives. Or worse: just her's. The thoughts of 'what if...' poured over and through me as we stood there together, awkwardly adjusting to the new open landscape before us. 

However, there was more than just us and inanimate barns to think of.

We shook off our reverie and gathered ourselves up and jumped in her little black Pontiac Sunfire and tore down to MacKay's to see if everyone was alright. 

They were fine. In fact, they were so fine they were all asleep. They afternoon napped their way through the whole thing, not that it was that long. King and Myrna were away somewhere, and only Scott and Shelley were at home. I had to knock and yell several times before Scott groggily presented himself at the door. Like Brenda, it took two or three times to convince him to come outside to look at where the barn should have been. "Holy sh**!!" There seemed to be a theme to the response I was getting to my inquiries. 

Most incredibly, Shelley had slept right through it completely unharmed in their unhitched 5th wheel trailer in the back yard between the house and the barn! She was only 50 feet from a large barn that had been utterly demolished and she didn't even know it happened until we told her!

As we were surveying the devastation, it came to all of us that we couldn't see Ambrose's house, either! From our place, MacKay's house naturally blocked our view of Afelskie's, but standing in King's yard I thought it should have been in plain view. It wasn't a sturdy house, and we were sure it was gone. Would they be alive in the rubble? Scott piled in with Brenda and I and we barreled down to their place. Our fears were greatly relieved as we got there and realized we couldn't see their house due to the height and unusual lushness of the trees beside it, blocking it from view. Ambrose was already out climbing over the leveled remains of his barn. 

The next farm past Afelskie's was a pasture farm with no buildings, so it suffered no damage. The farm after it had a barn, but well back from the path the tornado took, so it survived intact. We couldn't tell where the funnel lifted for good.

King's horses were fine. They were completely unscathed. In fact, now they had calmed down so much they turned their attention to grazing. The danger was over and it was back to living.

Wytenburg's had the end blown (probably actually sucked) out of their barn across the road from MacKay's. In Jaremkow's front field, across from Afelskie's, a large maple tree had been ripped clean out of the ground and looked like a humongous giant had then snapped it over his knee. The power it took to do that was almost incomprehensible. Blowing apart a barn made of a bunch of nailed together lumber was one thing, but snapping a very thick maple tree like a matchstick was entirely another. That left me shaken more than anything else. That tornado would have destroyed anything it hit. At Wytenburg's new place up from us, the barn had a large piece of roof on the end leading toward the storm ripped loose and flipped over like a hinge onto the rest of the roof. It was only held there by the tin. 

Both of Wytenburg's barns were written off by their insurance company, and soon torn down and replaced with very different structures. So, we effectively lost four big barns in our immediate area that day. I love barns and it was a big, sad adjustment to not have them all around me anymore. The weather that eventful afternoon really left its mark on us all.

When I was in high school, a tornado had gone down our Back Place creek, lifted up over Afelskie's, and touched back down across the Queen's Line at Jaremkow's. It took the chimney off of the back of their house, and then dropped right down and made a direct hit on their barn, blowing it to smithereens and scattering it in two fields. So, we lost five immediately local barns to criss-cross intersecting tornado paths, and Afelskie's house was extremely narrowly missed by both of them.

We had an exceptionally close call that day. If that twister had fully dropped down just a little bit sooner... The Good Lord had His hand on all of us that summer afternoon. It was so, so close for all of us. It was bad, but it could have been much, much worse; a real tragedy.

Those horses knew. I don't know how they knew, but they darn well knew.