Dark skies churned and twisted with anger and resentment towards my family's country house in the valley surrounded by alfalfa fields in Comanche County, Kansas. I'm a country kid at heart; I relocated to the city with my family to aid an ailing grandmother 6 years ago. Garden City is my hometown, but rural Kansas land is my home.
At four years old, you are a pretty impressionable being. I believed that every cowboy in the old West carried a sixgun, and that dark clouds were scary, and should be avoided. Was I wrong or what?
To this day I wish for a large supercellular storm to form and shape back in that area of nowhere, for the roads may be impassible and turn your wheel-wells into the makings of adobe pottery, but the scenes are breathtaking, and alter your state of mind forever. That is obviously why I'm so crazy during the month of May
At four years old, I saw my first true-to-life tornado; it twisted and bent around itself numerous times, reacting with the mother-storm above it. A slender rope touched--no, kissed--the valley wall to the west, played chicken with a shelterbelt, and slank away towards the southwest. That image has stamped itself into my mind, and refuses to leave, to die. It still flares with the same intensity as the day it burned my brain.
I do not live for tornadoes--on the contrary! I live with tornadoes, as a part of my everyday life. They will not die in me, no matter how hard I have tried to rid myself of them. The addiction is as strong as ever, so friend or foe beware: dark clouds trigger the insanity chemical in me, and it is a very powerful imbalance, just as the turbulent atmosphere that causes it.
Insane May, here we come...