March is a weird month
and this weirder than others
April, come you will
Well, I think we can all agree that the Coronavirus pandemic, and our necessity for sheltering in place, made March 2020 a weird month for us all, to a greater or lesser degree.
But here in Tennessee, it has been weirder still, beginning with the tornadoes that ripped through downtown Nashville, and then Cookeville, killing at least 25, and injuring dozens more.
We first became aware at about ten minutes to 1 AM, on March 3rd, when Marek's lead driver texted him that severe storms had just rolled through Nashville, had done a lot of damage, and were heading our way.
About ten minutes later, we both got severe tornado warnings on our phones, advising us to seek shelter immediately. As we don't have a basement, we were discussing our best course of action, and walked out onto our front porch . . . to be greeted by a lovely warm night, plenty of peepers calling, a starry night above, and lightning to our northwest and north.
After eight years here, I knew that our weather patterns tend to do exactly that, and funnel the worst of the weather from our northwest to our north, most often missing us completely.
We do have a full basement in the other house, but that house is a mobile home, and so not exactly better shelter. Our bathroom is somewhat sheltered, though in a tornado that doesn't always matter, but I strongly felt that we were better off staying where we were, and ultimately, he agreed.
Marek wanted to get in the car and drive south, but I knew from my time in Florida that the very last place you want to be in a tornado is in a car, so I advised that we stay home and wait it out, but prepare to shelter in our windowless bathroom should the need arise.
Thankfully, it didn't. Instead, as I had predicted, the storm remained north, and steamrolled right through Cookeville, once more missing us completely.
The worst thing, though, is that while White County warned us of possible tornadoes nearly an hour before they hit, giving us plenty of time to ponder and prepare, Cookeville didn't get their phone alerts until nearly an hour later, when the tornadoes were already almost on top of them.
A lot of people died, who wouldn't have, had they been warned in time.
Bizarrely, March 3rd was also Super Tuesday, throwing a serious wrench into the works of our state primary election. I had voted early and so had no issues.
But, weirder still, I discovered that this isn't the first or even second time that Tennessee has had tornadoes on Super Tuesday, but the FOURTH.
Perhaps Mother Nature is trying to tell us something.
Then came the night of March 28/29. I had known for a while that we were expecting rain, but had learned only that evening that we were expecting severe thunderstorms, which is generally not a big deal for me as I dearly love thunderstorms.
So around 1 AM, I went to bring in Lolo and Truffle from our back porch, but they were both enjoying the evening, which was still lovely at that point, and wanted to stay outside. I told myself I would check on them in half an hour.
Then I sat down at my computer, became engrossed in some of the things I was researching, and . . . fell asleep.
I was awakened at around 2:30 by loud thunder, and was startled upon opening my eyes to see lightning flashing so fast and furious that the sky was literally turned white all around.
I have never seen that before, even in 28 years of living and sailing all around Tampa Bay, which is the lightning capital of the inhabited world.
I looked behind me, expecting to see Lolo lying there, and suddenly realized that he and Truffle were still outside, in the thick of the storm, and rushed to bring them in.
Thinking that they had likely taken shelter on our covered front porch, I went there first, but nothing: no cat, no dog.
I ran to the back porch and called them, my voice all but drowned out by the driving rain, and after a moment Lolo came barreling through the door, soaked to the bone, but otherwise, unharmed and none the worse for wear.
But, call as I might, still no Truffle, and no sign of her.
I grabbed my laptop and main hard drive, and went into the bedroom with Lolo, figuring that it was marginally less exposed than the computer room, and Truffle knows to meow at that window if she wants to come inside.
For some reason, though both rooms face the front porch, she almost never meows at the window of the computer room.
At that point Marek called, and I told him what was going on, and that we had a tornado watch (not a warning this time) until 4 AM, so I was going to stay awake just in case. And, while I was on the phone with him, we lost power.
I spent much of that time going back and forth, from front door to back, but as the storm began moving to our east, toward Knoxville, and finally abated to nothing but a light sprinkle, there was still no sign of Truffle.
I finally headed to bed around 4:30, with a quick prayer that she was somewhere dry and safe, and went to bed.
By morning all was calm, with nothing but a light rain, and still no power. I ultimately discovered that, of the six counties that suffered damage, our little community of Doyle was among the worst hit, along with Sparta, our county seat, just to our north.
By early afternoon, the clouds were clearing, and the sun was just peeking out to survey the damage. It was then that Truffle finally answered my call, running toward me and complaining all the way.
I suspect that she was telling me about her harrowing night in the storm.
The next couple of days were a surreal blur of trying to find dog food and ice, so as not to lose all the food I had just stocked up in our fridge and freezer, and I finally drove to Cookeville to get it, as no place in Sparta had any.
Seven ten-pound bags of ice later, I put about half the food from our fridge into our boat cooler, a Coleman guaranteed to keep food cold for three days, which has always come through for us. I left one bag of ice bagged on the bottom, and spread another two over the top of the food to keep it cold.
I managed to wedge full bags of ice on the top two shelves, which I first put in kitchen garbage bags to prevent them from dumping water all over the floor, which mostly worked, aside from the condensation.
The only freezer shelf I could wedge a bag into was the very bottom, not ideal, but better than nothing. But our icemaker doesn't work, so at Marek's suggestion I filled the ice drawer with the last bag of ice, and two and a half days later, when we finally got power, most of our frozen food was still frozen, and all of it had remained properly cold.
I bought five more bags of ice the following day, as there were rumors the outage might last a week, but wound up not needing it, as so much of the original ice was still frozen, and doing its job keeping our food cold. I still have four bags of ice in two smaller coolers.
In the end, the damage was surreal, and sad. We lost a lot of grandmother oaks in town, and literally dozens of power poles had simply snapped in half, which is why it took so long to restore our power.
But the strangest thing was that, as an example, I saw three huge hundred-year oaks completely destroyed, but not eighty feet away were a couple of tall maples and a tulip poplar, far weaker trees with seriously spindly branches . . . and they were completely untouched. We had no tornadoes, at least none that were reported, so I'm thinking . . . maybe microbursts??? Weird, in any case.
But the good thing in all of this is that, even while social distancing due to the virus, neighbors checked on one another, made sure we could help however we were able, and we came together as a community, as do the vast majority of communities in such a situation.
Personally, we lucked out again, as there was no damage to either house, our barn or our shed, we lost no trees that hadn't fallen before the storm, and our worst damage was losing a bunch of tree limbs and a taro plant on the front porch having its leaves sheared off when a piece of our soffit crashed into it.
I still need to replace that piece of soffit.
But we are so very fortunate in so many ways, neither of us has any symptoms, we are both ready and able to do what we need to do, and when I think of how much worse so many people have it, I feel very blessed indeed.
Which is why I made the decision to share this song tonight.
Most who know me well know that I'm a music geek, and a serious fan of Riverside and Lunatic Soul, both of which are headed up by multi-instrumentalist, vocalist, and outstanding lyricist Mariusz Duda.
As Riverside's bass player, he continually comes up with many of my favorite bass lines in music today, and his voice is just astounding: he keeps surprising me with his versatility and range, which frankly, isn't easy to do.
Duda deserves even more accolades as a songwriter, as has a masterful way with melody, and he is writing lyrics in his second language: he is a native of Warsaw, Poland, my husband's home town, and is still based there.
In any case, on 19 March he released a new song on his YouTube channel, his first released under his own name, "Song for a Dying Memory." That date has particular significance for me, which I've written about in the past, but that's a story for another day.
Quite simply, the song is a thing of beauty, but then, that is what I've come to expect from his music in the last twelve years, since I was first introduced to his music via Riverside.
I finally got to see Riverside live for the first time last May, in Atlanta, and they were every bit as good as I'd hoped, which is saying a lot. Fabulous musicians all.
But this one is all Mariusz Duda, and he does not disappoint. It is sad, poignant, yet ultimately uplifting, and I fell in love with it upon first hearing. I hope you may as well.
Additionally, it is unlike his music with Riverside or with Lunatic Soul; simpler, more refined, and the arrangement, particularly with the addition of the the string quartet, is beyond gorgeous.
Riverside has often been deemed as progressive metal, though theirs is a very melodic metal indeed, and I personally don't bother to give it a classification except to say that it is outstanding.
Lunatic Soul, Duda's solo side project, began with acoustic instruments and more of a world music feel, but has grown into its own sound as well, which he himself classifies as melancholic rock, as he does Riverside's music. I consider that far more accurate.
And this song, which I hope is the harbinger of a solo album to come, would fit in that mould as well, but with more of a hopeful edge, and something else . . . could it be the strength to admit that, as much as we may have learned, we have also learned how very much we don't yet know?
And it's okay to not know. We are human after all.
And so, as we self-isolate, and ponder things known and unknown, enjoy this lovely song, and allow it to take you away for a few brief moments.
Enjoy. I love you all.
The photo, taken by Marek, is of me enjoying a moment communing with my lovely Bear boy, as we sat by our firepit. It is bathed in red, because the light we keep on the table by the fire is red, in order not to attract every insect in the county.
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art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics
