Oklahoma Dreaming: Weather

by Donna Schoenkopf

last week: Peewee

Weather ...

A tropical storm hit Oklahoma last week. Clouds swirled on the radar in a gigantic circle over the state, looking exactly like the pictures on the teevee I've seen of Katrina. The storm has RAINED on Oklahoma and caused enormous sinkholes, death and flooding. People say this particular weather pattern will be studied for years. It has never happened before. Weather people ask how a hurricane, without the wind, only rain, could come to a land-bound state like Oklahoma. (Insert Twilight Zone music here.)

I've just read the obituary of a 69-year-old woman whose life ended when her car was swept from the street into the raging waters of a swollen river. She worked here in town. Her picture shows a sweet face. Her parents were named Brother and Sister and started a fundamentalist church out in the country. Wait a minute. Their CHURCH names were Brother and Sister.

 

Interestingly, the cause of death is never mentioned in obituaries in our local newspaper. Often the phrase "went to heaven" is included in the article. I wonder if people think it is rude to discuss cause of death.

As I drive to my property, huge round bales of hay, looking like giant spools of thread dropped by a giant, stand upright or lie on their sides in lakes of water.

Egrets have begun to discover the flooded fields. They stand elegantly along the water's edge and consider it all. It looks very Japanese.

Weather ...

It's been hellishly hot and humid. To me the absolute worst of all possible worlds. Imagine a heat so oppressive and humidity so high, you can't breathe. When I open the door of the car, the heat hits me in the face. Literally no one is out. Everything slows down. Nothing moves. Except that crazy old man who rides his bicycle everywhere. He's out there, pedaling along, 105 years old, with his baseball cap and long-sleeved shirt, pushing against the heat. Going somewhere.

But some days, it's just plain hot. Relatively low humidity. Much nicer. It was 108 in the shade the other day. It was actually quite nice.

Then the rains ... the glorious, fabulous, intense rains, complete with thunder and lightning. I counted 72 hits of lightning in one minute a couple of weeks ago.

I've missed the rain over the last forty years, living in California.

 

So I get rain now. Sorrowfully, people have died. But the earth is roused into green awakening. Everything is growing. Grass is higher, greener than ever. Trees hang thick with leaves. This is plant weather.

Insect weather, too. Lots of mosquitoes and chiggers and dragonflies and fireflies. Little spotted bugs, yellow ones, green ones. Bugs I have never seen before. My cats love them and eat them like hors d'oeuvres. Yum. Crunchy.

Here's a rain story.

It is last Sunday morning. It is 8:30 in the morning. I am in my little duplex next door to the meth freaks. I have my coffee in front of me. I am watching Meet the Press. Karl Rove is talking to David Gregory. I am getting mad at Karl. As usual.

Then I hear the sound of children crying and screaming out in front of my house. The water is POURING down (the tropical storm, remember?). I get up and look out my living room window. There are two little redheaded children walking down the street, soaking wet, crying. I go to the door and call through the rain, "Where's your mom?"

"Home sleeping. We just wanted to take a walk by ourselves."

I go out into the rain and ask, "Can you show me where your house is?"

She just points vaguely.

Her name is Hannah, she's four years old. Her brother is Connor. He's either two or three. Neither he nor Hannah can quite tell me where they live. I tell them I'll take them home and to come into the house while I get dressed. Hannah tells me Connor has stickers in his feet. I look down and seen five stickers in one foot and two in the other. They are the kind of stickers that sting when they get into your skin. He has managed to figure out how to walk on his heels and sides of his feet. He is not crying. He is a brave, brave little boy. He is wearing a tee shirt and diapers. I take the stickers out of his feet. His feet are bloody.

Hannah doesn't hesitate to come in. This causes me unease. Nonetheless, there's nothing to be done. I get dressed as quickly as I can. The rain has stopped. I hold Connor's hand and we start down the street. Hannah shows me the way.

It's the wrong way.

We try another way. Not that way either. I ask an elderly couple if they know the children. No. A homeless (?) guy crouching in the corner of the Spirit Rain Church on my block says he saw them coming from the other direction. Another false lead. Hannah seems completely unaware of her dilemma. I tell her to never, never, never, never go out of the house without her mom, ever, ever again. That she could really get hurt. I ask her, "So, are you ever going to go out of the house without your mother?" She says, "Well, if we want to take a walk ..."

Finally we head back to my house. I call the police. They come, through the (again) pouring rain, ask some questions, tell me they will take the children to try to find their house. I wait for a couple of hours and call the police station. The irritated dispatcher tells me they are having to deal with the flood, but she does know they were taken directly to a shelter.

Those liars.

 

Another weird weather thing. Peewee tells me the trees are dropping their leaves too early and the geese are flying south way ahead of schedule. (Insert Jaws music here.)

This is what you do when the weather doesn't let you build your house. You wait. You think. You rescue little kids. You look at stuff. You hear music in your head.

"If you don't like the weather in Oklahoma, just wait a minute."

Will Rogers said that.

next week: water