Tents, Twisters, and Trains

Tents, Twisters and Trains

Several years ago we went to a reenactment in Atoka, OK.  As we pulled in and set up camp we looked at the sky and saw this:

The sky was beautiful, but also sinister-looking.  We knew that a storm was brewing. It was quite breezy, as it often is on the Oklahoma plains.   When you live in Tornado Alley you tend to keep your eyes on the sky. 

Vaunda, Brenda, and I pitched our tent in the civilian area, and expecting a storm, we lay plastic on the ground to protect us from the torrential rain that we knew would come. The idea was to have the plastic cover the gap between the bottom of the tent and the ground so that any water would have to go under or around us, thus keeping us dry. 

Needing to visit the port-a-johns, Vaunda and I headed in that direction, fighting the wind every inch of the way.  Once inside I shut the door and set about taking care of business.  The port-a-john shook like a paint mixer at the hardware store. 

“Has anyone ever been killed in one of these things?” I shouted to Vaunda, who was waiting outside.  Then we both began giggling. 

We went to bed at nightfall, just as the storm moved in.  It rained; it thundered; and the wind gripped our tent and shook it like a dog shakes its prey.  I lay there and prayed.  Hard.  I prayed for God’s protection for everyone there, and then fell asleep.  I was presently awakened by the sound of a train.  I had never been in a tornado before, but I had heard that the sound was like that of a freight train.  I listened.  The train sound came closer and closer.  Subsequently, the sound of a whistle pierced the night.

“Do tornados have whistles?” I asked Vaunda.  Then we both laughed. 

We were still laughing the next morning when we got up.  Everyone was fine.  Some were wet, but reenactors are “all-season” kind of people.  We began to inspect for damage.  We found it amusing that Brenda’s sleeping bag was wet.  The plastic that was meant to keep us dry had poked its way out from underneath the tent and acted as a funnel, channeling water inside the tent.  We hung her sleeping bag out to dry, then went to get something to eat. 

The event coordinators provided breakfast for the reenactors:  sausage, biscuits and gravy.  We tramped through the mud to get to the mess tent and stand in line.  What a hunger a storm can produce! 

The sun came out and began the task of drying things out.  The rest of the event went without a hitch.  We left happy but tired.  My son, Scott even fell asleep with his head in my dresses on the way home.  What a picture!