The beauty of a Southern thunderstorm
I knew it was coming because the weather radar showed big areas of red and yellow nearby. That meant heavy rain (and possibly heavier rain) along with thunder and lightning. I walked out to our screen porch and pulled up a rocking chair so I could witness the show.
It was tame when I arrived. The only sign of pending trouble was a darkening sky as thick clouds gathered. The actual storm started gently with a slight breeze that ruffled leaves on the stand of tall trees behind our home. I could imagine that breeze swaying palm trees on a tropical beach rather than sweet gums and poplars. That breeze turned into a solid wind. The bigger trees nearer our home simply had the upper branches moved, but the spindly young trees at the back of the lot started moving back and forth like a collection of drinking straws swaying to the music.
The dark clouds huddled closer.
The wind changed identity and became a small gale. The young trees were bending deeper toward the ground with each current, and the older trees were beginning to bend as well. The thunder started innocently enough with a couple of distant rumbles. Those rumbles also began huddling closer. I never saw a lightning bolt, only a slight discoloring of the sky with resulting thunder of greater intensity. Then the rains came. It was a solid rain at first, enough to provide a good watering for all our plants and shrubs. That gentle phase didn't last long. The solid rain became a downpour. Water drops slashed through the atmosphere and rattled what seemed to be every leaf on our lot. The downpour only got stronger.
I left my screen porch viewing stand to walk through the house and go to the front porch. You see, we have one area to the far left of our house where these downpours leave their mark in the form of a small stream that runs between our line of grass and the thicker forest a few yards away. I wanted to see how this current began. We have a sloping embankment at the top of that area, and the water began to surge. It wasn't anything nearing a true flood, but the red clay that is dominant in large parts of the South began to wash down its usual route. I watched a small stream of red rush through our monkey grass, then flow through a few hastas we have on the downward side of this slope. That stream eventually made its way down that side of our property and jetted out into the street. It proved to me that we need some good groundcover to shield those banks, and the construction of a narrow channel so that stream can reach the street without cutting thick wrinkles on the face of our land.
The storm suddenly let up. No lightning, no thunder, no rain. I walked back to the screen porch to make sure no trees were downed. Even the rail-thin young trees at the back of the lot were still standing strong.
One part of our engineering efforts was laid waste by this storm. We accepted the advice of a man at a store as we tried to stop the loss of topsoil in big storms. He recommended using paving sand and more good topsoil in the most vulnerable areas. My wife and I spent considerable time putting down sand and adding topsoil, and we thought it sounded like a good idea. That idea didn't have a chance. I spent an hour or so the next day scooping up a combination of red clay and paving sand from the gutter on our street. The guy at the store said the sand would be too dense to be carried away, and we believed him. Foolish landowners!
I now have three bags of a combination of red clay and paving sand for use on an as-yet--to-be-determined project. I also have a great appreciation of the beauty and power of a Southern thunderstorm.
Life can be so beautiful, and storms can prove the folly of our ways.
It was tame when I arrived. The only sign of pending trouble was a darkening sky as thick clouds gathered. The actual storm started gently with a slight breeze that ruffled leaves on the stand of tall trees behind our home. I could imagine that breeze swaying palm trees on a tropical beach rather than sweet gums and poplars. That breeze turned into a solid wind. The bigger trees nearer our home simply had the upper branches moved, but the spindly young trees at the back of the lot started moving back and forth like a collection of drinking straws swaying to the music.
The dark clouds huddled closer.
The wind changed identity and became a small gale. The young trees were bending deeper toward the ground with each current, and the older trees were beginning to bend as well. The thunder started innocently enough with a couple of distant rumbles. Those rumbles also began huddling closer. I never saw a lightning bolt, only a slight discoloring of the sky with resulting thunder of greater intensity. Then the rains came. It was a solid rain at first, enough to provide a good watering for all our plants and shrubs. That gentle phase didn't last long. The solid rain became a downpour. Water drops slashed through the atmosphere and rattled what seemed to be every leaf on our lot. The downpour only got stronger.
I left my screen porch viewing stand to walk through the house and go to the front porch. You see, we have one area to the far left of our house where these downpours leave their mark in the form of a small stream that runs between our line of grass and the thicker forest a few yards away. I wanted to see how this current began. We have a sloping embankment at the top of that area, and the water began to surge. It wasn't anything nearing a true flood, but the red clay that is dominant in large parts of the South began to wash down its usual route. I watched a small stream of red rush through our monkey grass, then flow through a few hastas we have on the downward side of this slope. That stream eventually made its way down that side of our property and jetted out into the street. It proved to me that we need some good groundcover to shield those banks, and the construction of a narrow channel so that stream can reach the street without cutting thick wrinkles on the face of our land.
The storm suddenly let up. No lightning, no thunder, no rain. I walked back to the screen porch to make sure no trees were downed. Even the rail-thin young trees at the back of the lot were still standing strong.
One part of our engineering efforts was laid waste by this storm. We accepted the advice of a man at a store as we tried to stop the loss of topsoil in big storms. He recommended using paving sand and more good topsoil in the most vulnerable areas. My wife and I spent considerable time putting down sand and adding topsoil, and we thought it sounded like a good idea. That idea didn't have a chance. I spent an hour or so the next day scooping up a combination of red clay and paving sand from the gutter on our street. The guy at the store said the sand would be too dense to be carried away, and we believed him. Foolish landowners!
I now have three bags of a combination of red clay and paving sand for use on an as-yet--to-be-determined project. I also have a great appreciation of the beauty and power of a Southern thunderstorm.
Life can be so beautiful, and storms can prove the folly of our ways.
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