Snapshots in the Wind  Melinda Neeley

As I watched the four sleepy cows graze, then another drink lazily from the pond, I looked across the carpet of green pasture that enveloped the Charles and Valery Jackson farm and became mesmerized by its beauty. There was scarcely any evidence that this peaceful homestead had been struck during the November 27^th Arkansas tornado pandemic. The only hints of disarray were a few bare spots and some scattered tree stumps.

My eyes scoped the premises in disbelief as I began to imagine the destruction that I had been told about.  Just months earlier, the now-glistening cow pond had been sucked dry by a ruthless tornado that had grown thirsty during its course, selfishly slurping up every drop of water as frightened cows stood in a huddle nearby and watched their water source disappear into the heavens.  The velvety pasture before me had once been an ugly mass of debris and uprooted trees. Another rewind in time would unveil even more scenes of destruction: the house roof being peeled off its rafters; the wind angrily whipping through all of the family’s belongings; uninvited rain cascading into the home.

Miraculously, even though the tornado had yielded enough power to perform all of these gruesome deeds, it left Charles, Valery, and their son, Jay, unhurt. The Todd Rasmussen family, neighbors to the Jacksons, also suffered extensive roof and water damage to their home, yet they, too, were left physically unscathed. Even more astounding, the tornado’s arrogant supremacy hadn’t intimidated friends or neighbors, for flocks of them had come to the aid of the Jacksons and Rasmussens within 15 minutes of the hit.

Since my visit to the Jacksons, I haven’t stopped thinking about the pandemic of miracles that managed to funnel their way out of this disaster – specifically, how amazing it was that so few people were injured and only one actual tornado-related death occurred. The wonderment of it reminds me of MGM’s 1939 movie classic, Wizard of Oz, especially the scene where Dorothy gets swallowed by a tornado and is then whirl pooled up inside its terrifying vortex as she screams and clings to her spinning bed. 

In watching the film, we as viewers are allowed to displace ourselves as we enter a dimension of “unreality” – to escape in the comfort of the storyline, while subconsciously suppressing the logic that no one can possibly be sucked up by something that ferocious without being seriously injured or killed. Of course, Dorothy lands unscathed, almost as if some invisible hand had been there to cushion her fall.  With nothing but the clothes on her back and her dog, she finds herself  “somewhere over the rainbow” in the mysterious Land of Oz, with an incredible life-learning journey ahead of her. Deep down, we know that Dorothy shouldn’t be able to survive this netherworld of flying monkeys and evil green witches, but we take comfort as she continues to endure her surreal environment.  After all…it’s a fantasy, right?

Not completely. This engaging story has a striking parallel to what happened right outside our own front doors on Nov. 27^th. Suddenly, for us, Oz isn’t a fantasy anymore.  Our Arkansas victims are living proof that it’s possible to survive a tornado – for they are still alive to tell their story, and they are still picking up the pieces of their lives – pieces that had literally been hurled across the state.

In a bizarre similarity to Dorothy’s encounter, a Conway County man and his son were actually sucked up by a tornado and spit back out onto a patch of earth nearby. Amazingly, they received very few battle scars – the work of the invisible hand again.  In other areas of the region, trailer homes exploded; yet in every instance, no one was home. These residents had been taking cover in more stable locations and were completely unharmed.

On Petit Jean Mountain, resident Carrie Scott was standing in the hallway of her home wondering where to take cover when, suddenly, the tip of a tornado hop scotched over her house.  In the midst of its hop, it uprooted two mammoth-sized pine trees from her front yard, snapped another in half, and then punctuated its skipping game with a trail of flattened baby trees. Amazingly, Ms. Scott escaped without a scratch, for none of the big trees landed on her house or car.  In fact, her home remained intact except for some roofing over her kitchen. An uncanny twist to the story is that Ms. Scott’s home is stabilized with concrete walls rather than the typical boards and sheet rock – a unique feature that enabled it to withstand this tumultuous blow. Another anomaly occurred down the road, when an empty barn was completely splintered by the high winds, but no other homes in that vicinity suffered any damage aside from a few torn shingles.  Incredibly, no one on the mountain was injured. And the list of miracles goes on…

It’s hard to look away from the destruction and focus on marvels like this, but God left us with many fascinating mementos to enable us to do so. Some of them were left on my own farm.  Just a few weeks after the sky had this atmospheric tantrum, my husband, Fill, discovered several of the storm’s relics. As he roamed about the farm on his John Deere Gator, he came upon some foreign debris that had been sprinkled across one of the pastures. Among the wreckage was a jagged piece from an old Charly McClain record album – violently bitten off by the teeth of a tornado.  The song title, “Make the World Go Away (Hank Cochran, 1963),” was still legible on the label. There is some irony in this title, for part of the world did “go away” for the innocent victims whose homes and belongings were whisked off. Yet, the next line of the song, “and get it off my shoulders,” seems to correlate with the many burdens that must have been lifted as their lives were spared. 

As Fill continued exploring, he found trash and tin scattered amidst the rubble, but the remnant that struck him as being most peculiar was an object that appeared to have arrived ever so softly, almost as if it had landed with butterfly wings. It was a page from a photo album, lying face up, neither torn nor water damaged. Each of four photos was mysteriously stabilized in its proper spot, leaving no hint of the violent journey it had all endured.  When Fill showed the page to me, the faces in the snapshots appeared to be staring up and smiling—almost beckoning me to send them back home. Fortunately, one group photo had names listed on the back, which allowed us to track the page to its owner: Mrs. Betty Burke of Union Valley, a rural area in Perry County that is about 20 miles away from our farm. I sent the picture page back along with a note of hope and concern.

Within just a few days, I got a thank you card from Mrs. Burke and her husband, Leon.  The card read: “Thank you so much for sending my pictures to me. We lost two mobile homes and two pickup trucks in the Nov. 27^th tornado.  We were next door at my mother-in-law’s when it hit.  We lost everything. Her house was not damaged. We are staying with her until we get another mobile home. I have been doing family history records and pictures for 25 years. All of it blew away. Several pictures have been found and returned. Some from Mountain View and Shirley, AR, Sardis, Morrilton, and Plumerville. We were not injured. God Bless You. Thank you.”

As I envision these snapshots being snatched up and carried off to distant places by the heartless wind, they become symbolic of all of the lives that were uprooted and scattered – of the victims who were left to adjust to peculiar, sometimes frightening, environments – just like Dorothy. Many of these victims were displaced into surroundings that were not “home,” places that were “surreal.” Yet, just as some of Mrs. Burke’s photos are making their way back home, the victims will, too – but not without life-learning journeys ahead. 

God blessed our community by cushioning our fall with His gentle hands and shielding us from these merciless storms.  Everyone who was whirl pooled into the path of these tornadoes – be it victims, caregivers, or onlookers – has gained an even deeper appreciation of life, more insight about the fragility and preciousness of it, and confirmation that “there’s no place like home.” It’s amazing how something as frightening as a tornado can drop down from divine skies; yet, it seems this has only drawn us that much closer to heaven and to God, for we are compelled to look up, not in wait of another disaster, but of the miracles yet to come.

© 2006 by Melinda Neeley