Presented Without Comment

Had a lovely day delivering eggs to our loved ones. Sat on the porch (masks, social distance, yadda, yadda) with Prairie Peacock and chatted while The Husbands consulted about the bee structure that we are building. Her husband is an amazing woodworker, and was loads of help.

On the way home, the clouds were cool looking. They looked like mountains.

And there was a stray thunderstorm.

I am no longer allowed to comment on clouds anymore. “Why” you ask? Well, we got married in Rocky Mountain National Park, and honeymooned there too. We took some back roads on the way home, and somewhere in southwest Nebraska, I looked south and commented, “if those clouds got organized, it could get interesting.” They did, and it was.

Cut to six or so hours later and we are in north central Kansas in searing 100 degree heat. A few miles later, 70 and blinding rain. We, and everyone else, pull over because we can’t see.

We are chilling in the car listening to our weather radio. All we can see is a sign saying Solomon, 10 miles. The radio helpfully notes that the storm is worst about ten miles west of, you guessed it, Solomon.

Wind, rain, wind, rain. We have a completely full VW wagon. And it starts to rock. From wind coming in the opposite direction than it should. So, we look at each other, say “It’s been a good run,” and abandon ship.

We run to the ditch in the rain and wind, and hunker down. I’m staring into the rain trying to see if there’s a tornado coming. Luckily, no tornado. As the storm passes, everyone returns to the road.

We are drenched, and cold. By the time we see the next filling station, it’s back over 100. So we got really funny looks getting huge cups of hot chocolate.

And that’s why I am not allowed to comment on clouds. Forty-six years of living in Kansas has given me a keen eye for storms.

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