Whenever we drive out west to Oklahoma, I realize just how still the air is in the protected hollers of our Kentucky home. There’s just no room around here for the wind to pick up speed and really blow. So when it does start whistling around the corners of the house and whipping tree branches all over the place, (like yesterday afternoon) we know we’re in for a storm.
I can’t even remember the last time the wind blew so hard here. Roger was in the church van taking kids home from Bible School when the storm started, and he said there were some pretty scared kids with him. I guess the van was blowing around and must have felt pretty unstable.
But we got a good (much-needed) rain out of it, and the worst that happened here at camp was a tree that blew over our bridge and which had to be cut up quickly.
This morning as I was putting a load of clothes into the dryer, I kept out a favorite t-shirt that I always air-dry. I put it on a hanger and carried it out to the little clothesline on our balcony…. where I noticed the absence of another of my favorite shirts that I had hung out yesterday morning.
It didn’t take long to put two and two together and to realize that, in this particular instance, 4 would equal the fact that my (green) shirt was now lying disconsolately somewhere among our green hills of Kentucky. (It must have been disconsolate at our separation – I know I was.) I walked down to the road and scanned the hillside below our house…. no green shirt. I looked up into the trees, half hoping to see the shirt stuck in a branch (it would make a great story) and half hoping not to (it could be hard to recover.)
I only had about an hour before I had to leave for lunch with my friends. I couldn’t go traipsing through wet leaves, so I took the second-best option (or maybe the better one) and told my kids that whoever found the shirt could choose a prize from the treasure chest.
Avery came out on the balcony while Wesley, Malin and I were on the road looking down toward the creek. (I was imagining my poor shirt rotting at the bottom in the mud.) When Avery found out what was going on, she ran inside to get dressed so she could help too. By the time she came back out, we were walking up the steps to our back yard. She ran around the side of the house, then in front of the balcony on her way to help us. Then the crazy girl stopped in front of the balcony (right where I had walked earlier) looked down at the ground and said casually, “Here’s a shirt.”
I basically accused her of lying. I said, “No it’s not,” and went over to look. Sure enough… as luck and a short person would have it, Avery stumbled over my favorite t-shirt and won a prize without even trying.
What kind of idiot walks right over top of her favorite shirt while searching desperately for it? I’m sure there’s an analogy here somewhere. But, in lieu of that, a quote:
…windblown trashbag does a roadside ghost dance… -David Wilcox