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phosfateSpring in Nebraska. The trees are coated in little green thingies - except for the ones that have little white thingies or little purple thingies. It could still snow. It has before, and the sight of apple blossom covered in heavy snow and lit by a Daylight Savings sunset is well worth seeing, albeit not cleaning up after.
Mostly, spring in Nebraska means that once again, God is trying to kill us.
Nothing personal on His part, I'm sure. It's just a little thing He does. Friday night, for example, was a collage of 50+ mph winds, hail, sideways rain, broken tree limbs, and cable outages. (It would have been worse, but most of the potential deadwood was taken out in the massive thundersnow - there truly is such a thing - and ice storm of a few years back.)
Saturday, constant high wearing wind of the sort that used to make isolated pioneer women kill their children and put them up in jars.
Sunday...we all knew what was coming. The air was heavy and humid, alternating between cold and stuffy. The sky was that glass green shade that you learn to dread if you live here long enough. The middle of the afternoon thunder, lightning, and massive cold oily ran starts boiling up from Kansas. The TV screen is overlaid with watches and warnings.
We could stand out on the driveway, look straight up, and see different layers of clouds like a complicated multiplane shot in an old Disney feature. We could point out the layers moving in different directions, the sort of thing that leads to rotation and, if one is unlucky, eventual funnels - just like the weather porn we love to watch on the Discovery Channel.
The radar guys at the National Weather Service put us under a warning (technical term for get the fuck into the basement), but the sirens, which only go into action if someone actually *sees* a tornado appear, never went off. You could watch the little red spots on the TV radar, then go outside and see the real wall cloud marching across the other side of the county.
For the first hour or so, it's terrifying. The world looks like Mordor. After that, when it's clear that there will be no death and destruction, we sit and bitch because X-Files is interrupted with warning beeps ("The father of Agent Scully's baby is BEEEEEEEEEP!") and picture-in-picture maps. The storm system moves on to bother the poor bastards in Iowa and Minnesota.
This will repeat regularly through June.
Next time someone starts going on about the joys of spring, I will punch them in the mouth.
Mostly, spring in Nebraska means that once again, God is trying to kill us.
Nothing personal on His part, I'm sure. It's just a little thing He does. Friday night, for example, was a collage of 50+ mph winds, hail, sideways rain, broken tree limbs, and cable outages. (It would have been worse, but most of the potential deadwood was taken out in the massive thundersnow - there truly is such a thing - and ice storm of a few years back.)
Saturday, constant high wearing wind of the sort that used to make isolated pioneer women kill their children and put them up in jars.
Sunday...we all knew what was coming. The air was heavy and humid, alternating between cold and stuffy. The sky was that glass green shade that you learn to dread if you live here long enough. The middle of the afternoon thunder, lightning, and massive cold oily ran starts boiling up from Kansas. The TV screen is overlaid with watches and warnings.
We could stand out on the driveway, look straight up, and see different layers of clouds like a complicated multiplane shot in an old Disney feature. We could point out the layers moving in different directions, the sort of thing that leads to rotation and, if one is unlucky, eventual funnels - just like the weather porn we love to watch on the Discovery Channel.
The radar guys at the National Weather Service put us under a warning (technical term for get the fuck into the basement), but the sirens, which only go into action if someone actually *sees* a tornado appear, never went off. You could watch the little red spots on the TV radar, then go outside and see the real wall cloud marching across the other side of the county.
For the first hour or so, it's terrifying. The world looks like Mordor. After that, when it's clear that there will be no death and destruction, we sit and bitch because X-Files is interrupted with warning beeps ("The father of Agent Scully's baby is BEEEEEEEEEP!") and picture-in-picture maps. The storm system moves on to bother the poor bastards in Iowa and Minnesota.
This will repeat regularly through June.
Next time someone starts going on about the joys of spring, I will punch them in the mouth.
