There but for the grace of God go I. Or, if you prefer, with the wrong turn of luck, that could have been me. Sometimes, it’s only a matter of inches, feet, yards or miles. And before you mock me, it’s amazing how close a mile, or even one hundred miles, can seem in the right (or wrong) situation.
Before I go any further, let me take a moment to let you all know that the recent (May 21) storms didn’t cause us much trouble at the Geuine Faux Farm. But, it did make me think about how things, like severe storms, can cause so much woe in one place, while someone not far away barely notices that something big has just happened in the world.
The storm clouds that approached our farm on August 24, 2021 look more ominous now than I remember feeling about them as I walked outside to take a few images of the interesting clouds.
I had already done the normal things we do at the farm with impending storms. Close the high tunnels. Close doors on the outbuildings and windows in the house. Put objects that might blow around and become projectiles into buildings or do something to prevent them from becoming airborne. Put equipment away and tell the cats they would do well to take some shelter for a while. Of course, I often try to get the birds to get into shelter, but they usually don’t listen unless it is close to the end of the day and they’re ready to go in anyway. So, I give it a cursory try and then move on.
Don’t take this wrong, but I have seen my fair share of storms rolling in. That’s what happens when you work outside in the elements as I have done in my capacity as small-scale, diversified farm steward. Of course I was taking the storm clouds seriously. I take ALL storm clouds seriously because that is part of my job.
But, I had no reason to expect that this system was going to be exceptional - at least from our perspective.
I had things pretty much ready. I could have put the grill away and there were a couple of carts/trailers that, in hindsight, could also have been put away. So, I took the time to grab a few images and inspect the clouds for rotation. If you look at the image above, you can see there were some interesting things going on. But, I didn’t note rotation that might have indicated development of a tornado.
After a few images, I noticed this front was not moving terribly quickly. But, I decided I would go inside and check if there was an active warning or alert. The radar showed something that really wasn’t all that big and there was no active warning. So, I went to a window to take another look and decided it was starting to look fairly serious.
And that’s when the house shuddered and I almost felt that the window bowed in slightly for just a second as the storm unleashed itself on the Geniune Faux Farm.
Needless to say, I backed quickly away from the window.
At about that time, I thought I heard the sound of bricks falling on the roof. So, I grabbed the computer and headed for the basement.
Seconds. Miles per hour. Inches. They all measure things. And sometimes, just a couple of those units make all the difference.
The wind blew for a very long time after the first gust hit the farm. Maybe it was only 20 to 30 minutes. But, it was a long 20 to 30 minutes. While we were fortunate to not be in the path of the 2020 Iowa derecho, this hammered the farm long enough that I felt I could sympathize a bit with those who had experienced it. It was persistent and violent.
And nerve-wracking.
About five minutes into the storm, the official warning was issued for a severe thunderstorm. And not long after, I received a call from our neighbor who was away from his farm doing a farm errand. He asked if I could go to his farm to close his high tunnels and I had to, regretfully, inform him that there was no way I was going to do that. Besides, if there was going to be damage, it was already done.
I felt bad saying it. He knew I wouldn’t just duck in the basement if it weren’t serious. And now, he had to worry about his place until he could get back (spoiler alert, his high tunnels were fine - speaking of inches and things like that). I did try, after the storm, to get to his place and found the way blocked by a tree I couldn’t move - but more on that in a bit.
There’s another part of the story that involves measurement of months and pounds. It had only been late April that I had a kidney removed and I was still not quite fully recovered. Things I might have happily put my back into and moved prior to surgery now gave me pause. I might have been able to move that tree if this happened in August of 2020. But, it was 2021 and I’d been split open myself - only months before. The incisions were actually fairly small compared to many surgeries. But, sometimes inches can make a bigger difference than you might think.
Those inches changed me from a farmer who felt fairly certain of how much strength he could use to move and lift things to one who was constantly second-guessing what he could - or could not - do. I did, much to my credit, find a safe way to move the chimney off of the trap door so I could get out and seal things up and prevent future rain damage. But, I certainly didn’t try to “bull” my way through like I might have before.
Damage at our farm was significant enough to cause some consternation, but not so much that we felt we needed any help. Some things got blown out of buildings. Eden and Valhalla, our high tunnels, sustained some damage. We lost some trees and branches. A poultry building moved and damaged the nearby electric fence - but only one broiler chicken showed an injury.
It wouldn’t be until that night that we would lose some chickens to the storm. Not directly mind you, but we didn’t quite get to fixing the hole in the poultry netting and a raccoon got in and managed to reach into the building and terminate the lives of several of the birds.
Daylight hours and personal energy. There weren’t enough of them to do everything. Besides, the hole in the fence wasn’t that big. But, there were enough inches, apparently, to introduce opportunity to unwanted predators when we couldn’t find enough of the daylight and energy to fix the fence.
The cherry tree was shadow of its former self that was only minutes before, losing half of its bulk in the wind. We left the portion that was still standing and it lived to produce cherries the next year. It sustained more damage in 2022 and we finally lost the rest of it in 2024. Still, we got cherries off of it far longer than we expected. It was even in bloom when it came down in some wind (a different storm) this Spring.
There were still enough inches of trunk and bark connecting the tree to its root system. Making all of the difference for the life of the tree - giving it almost three more years of life. Maybe not much in the grand scheme of the universe. Yet, it made a big difference for that tree.
On the other hand, the old barn was finished off in the August 2021 storm. I had actually started entertaining the idea of cleaning up around the old milking parlor add-on and seeing if I could shore it up for use. I won’t say that this one was really close. For something like this - a farm infrastructure consideration - it would typically take us a year or two to actually execute a plan if we decided the farm really needed it.
It didn’t, so there was no urgency. It’s just ironic that I would say out-loud to Tammy, “Hm. I wonder if we should find a way to make use of that building.” Then, a couple of days later, it gets pushed down to effectively turn that musing into a punchline of sorts.
It’s not the sort of punchline that gets much more than a slightly mocking or bitter laugh. But, you laugh as you are able.
In the days that followed, we learned more about how inches, feet and miles can make a difference. There were patches of corn in the fields just south of us that had been knocked down, but most of those fields were standing back up. The fields to our north maybe had a small patch or two down, but if you went just a half mile north, the corn was just fine.
A mile or two south and you got a picture like the one I show above. Many mature trees came down in Tripoli and in Fontana Park near Hazleton. There was even a semi-truck that got rolled over by the wind. An old grain bin a half-mile or so to our southwest looked like a giant hand had punched a big dent into it. I wish I’d taken the time to get a picture of it, but I never seemed to find the seconds it would take to actually do it.
Now that I can look back and access resources like this NOAA summary of the storm event, it becomes even more apparent how a mile or a minute can make a huge difference in an outcome. I grabbed the image showing damage reports and put it below so you might also appreciate what I am saying.
While it is difficult to show the scale with this map, suffice it to say that if we lived a mile further north…maybe even a half mile… we wouldn’t have thought much about this particular storm. It would have been just another set of threatening clouds that had a little poof and some rain that we easily shook off. At the very least, I am fairly certain I wouldn’t be writing blog articles about it.
Of course, I would have learned about damage in our area and I would have been appropriately concerned and done what I could to help as opportunity allowed. But, if we didn’t farm, would we have succumbed to the temptation to be urban tourists, goggling at the damage as we drove by? Or, would we have blissfully moved on without even noticing - just as many people in Waverly and Cedar Falls did.
Our attention is often limited to a few miles, or a few hundred feet, making it easy to miss things. Those inches, feet or miles can make all the difference in our perspectives. For me, this was a major event. I lived it. It was different for most everyone else - including Tammy, who was in Waverly at work during the storm.
Her perspective changed pretty quickly when she looked at a text from me (texts from me are pretty rare) that said something like “storm at farm…bad storm.” This from a person who has seen a few storms on the farm - which means it probably really WAS a bad storm for our farm. I actually regret that I sent that text because Tammy had to deal with the imagination running away with all sorts of awful scenarios before she could get ahold of me. In my defense, I was trying to warn her away from taking to the road and driving home just yet. Instead, I think I made it harder for her to concentrate while she was in a meeting.
This is a time where the measurement was words. A few more words might have made a difference.
This storm and some of the storms that had preceded AND followed it that week dropped a lot of rain in a year that had been quite dry. So, of course, we had to have some August flooding. This is a case where inches of rain over acres of land became feet over flood stage in places along the Wapsipinicon River.
As a matter of fact, the Wapsi set a crest record on August 29, 2021 at 18.51 feet. It beat the old record from July 21, 1999 by…
One one-hundredth of a foot. July 21, 1999 crested at 18.50 feet.
Not even an inch.
Thank you for joining me today and reading. I hope you allow yourself to consider how an inch, a moment, or any little shift in perspective can change how someone else might be experiencing life right now.
Be well everyone!