It was a stillness I’d only ever read about. We’ve come close to more than our fair share of tornadoes over the years. New York has been surprisingly fertile for them in recent seasons it seems, so while it’s a wee bit early for them, all bets are off in 2020. By the way the temperature skyrocketed into the 80’s in just a couple of hours, it felt like something major was on the march.
The stillness was pronounced. Maybe all the wind we’ve had of late made it more noticeable. It was a quiet that crashed, a quiet that clanged and clattered, a quiet that made a disturbance. As I finished up my daily meditation, I opened my eyes and looked out the front window. Sunlight, strong and warm – the strongest and the warmest of the year by far – brought out every scale of the arborvitae hedge, each deep red leaf of the Japanese maple, and all the softly-hued blooms of the lilac bush. It was a beautiful day, but something was off. It was too quiet. Too still. There was absolutely no breeze, no movement. It was like a photograph, or that moment when the video freezes, but it’s not really frozen. It was an eerie atmosphere. The air of anticipation – typical Friday emotional fare – was heavier than usual.
The wind picked up. It was high at first, and only the tops of the oaks and pines swayed slightly. Birds cried out a bit, and a squirrel meandered through the front yard. I walked through the house to the back patio, taking down two new hanging geraniums from their newly-erected canopy perch. I’d only just assembled it, and a few years ago we had a storm that took a similar structure out within a few short days of going up. That heartbreaking moment was why I had already secured this one with two ropes tied into the ground.
Andy came out and we looked at the Kwanzan cherry tree in full bloom; he lamented the likely fall of all those pretty pink petals. I did too. There was another shift in atmosphere and things went silently still again. We paused to admire the cherry tree for a little while longer. I also took a before-the-storm selfie, which is the featured pic above. I almost always forget to take any photos with the cherry as a backdrop, until it’s too late. It looked like I only had a few more minutes to make it this year.
We went back inside and waited for the storm to arrive. Andy monitored the progress of the line of them, and soon they were bearing down with full gusts and cold drops of rain. The temperature, which had gone all the way up into the lower 80’s, plummeted twenty degrees. My ridiculous sleeveless shirt was a joke in this weather, but I got a couple of videos as the storm began to tear down the cherry blossoms.
The wind was stronger than I expected, even with all the storm warnings, and I suddenly panicked that the canopy wasn’t going to stay in place. Quickly, I tied two more ropes to the frame, getting pelted with wind and rain in the process but not caring because I was determined not to lose the canopy this soon. Plus, I have needed a haircut for three weeks so no amount of wind and rain was going to mess up the mop on my head and part of the masochistic side of me wanted to see how bad things could really get.
I watched as the fig tree and tomato plants whipped around in their newly-planted homes, hoping they could withstand the vicious rush of wind. I’d nestled them together beneath the canopy in the hopes they would weather the onslaught better en masse. The sweet potato baskets would stay hanging on the frame, lending their weight and soaking up the rainwater since they needed a drink.
Almost as soon as it began, it was over, and inwardly I thanked the powers-that-be for sparing us a tornado or a gust that might have ripped the canopy down before we’ve even had a chance to enjoy it. The first storm of the season was done. We had weathered it with some preparation, some last minute fortification, and whatever luck that kept the plants and the yard intact. The rain remained, and it was a peaceful balm, gently nourishing the gardens and the lawn.
Spring was always wild this way.
