Carousel riders on the storm

It's one of those classic Indiana summer evenings.  Folks are at the county fair, sloshing through the mud from the storm that went through an hour ago, watching the western skies for the next storm that is looming on the horizon.  Food vendors who make their living selling elephant ears and lemon shake ups are experiencing the storm in terms of lost revenue.  Carnival workers are reveling in a few moments of quiet while the games and rides sit still and motionless.  Teenagers are absentmindedly sitting amidst the cows, pigs and horses they've worked hard to raise and prepare to be showed.  A few young people are forlornly wishing that the storms wouldn't have kept them from riding the carousel with a newfound love--or at least a newfound "like-a-lot."

Although I enjoy the fair, I'm not at all disappointed that I'm sitting at home watching the storms roll in on the western horizon.  I've always enjoyed storms and the thunder and lightening that often accompany them.  As a child I would sneak out the upstairs window onto the second story porch of our farmhouse and sit in the rain, letting it drip down my face and into my eyes and mouth.  As an adult, I sometimes stand on the patio while a storm rolls in and practice yoga, facing into the wind and raindrops as they come.  It's easier to be present in the midst of a summer thunderstorm.  I simply love a good storm.

I was raised in Coatesville, Indiana.  Coatesville's only claim to fame is that it was nearly completely destroyed by a tornado in 1948.  Many people raised in Coatesville, especially those old enough to remember the tornado, are deathly afraid of storms.  My great-aunt Gracie was known to lock herself in a closet or bathroom when a storm was coming.  She would cover her eyes and ears and simply panic while the storm passed through.  She was terrified.

I don't know what caused my great-aunt to be so afraid of storms.  I suppose it was the tornado.  I don't know why I love storms so much that I will often sit in a lawn chair in my open garage, letting the wind whip my hair and the rain fall on my toes and legs.  I suppose that a good summer storm is a little reminder of the recently forgotten harsh winter weather--weather that keeps us from going about our daily plans.  I also suppose that a strong storm is one of the few ways that we are all forced to deal completely and, often suddenly, with the brute forces of nature.  A storm doesn't choose a bad neighborhood or immoral people on which to exact its forces.  No one in the area is exempted and we all face a common threat--but not the threat of an enemy.  We face the unlikely threat of harm and loss of our homes or belongings.  We are completely unable to control our destinies for the duration of the storm.  Aside from our ability to predict, be warned, and hide in a closet with our eyes and ears covered, we must simply be present and endure.

I love a good storm in the summertime--even if it means I'm going to miss a ride on the carousel with my sweetie.