Haunted by clothing in a tree

May 9, 2002

Dear Leslie,

As many tornado warnings as I've heeded while living in Southeast Missouri, I'd never seen a tornado's power until April 28.

Four miles of a small valley near the small town of Marble Hill, Mo., looked like a giant had carelessly sauntered through just as unconsciously as one of us walks through our lawns, smashing grass and twigs and ant hills as if they were meaningless. It was a reminder that nothing is meaningless.

Some houses had vanished, leaving behind only the foundations. But the picture that won't go away is of a huge oak with all its leaves blown off. Stretched out on the limbs in place of leaves were pieces of clothing -- shirts and dresses and such, that hours before hung in a family's closets or lay in chests of drawers.

The clothes and the tree were frozen against the bright blue sky, life and the destruction of life in one.

On Sept. 11, every American understood in the clearest way the commitment and sacrifices firefighters make. After the tornado hit, firefighters from every corner of the county and from surrounding counties streamed toward Marble Hill. In darkness, they cleared trees from the narrow gravel roads that led to the places where most of the injured were.

They kept asking the fire chief if there was anything else they could do.

The tornado took everyone by surprise. Most people were sleeping. The next day, some who had been through it were still shaken, knowing others hadn't been as lucky.

People who have brushed up against their own death never breathe quite the same, I suspect. They are haunted, I also suspect, by their own ghost. But there are friendly ghosts.

Debra Winger, the actress, has said her own near death left her unafraid of failure. Afterward, she felt she had no choice but to live as fully as possible. You have rarely seen Debra Winger in a movie or in a role that did not grab you by the neck.

Another crashing thunderstorm awakened us early Wednesday morning and turned out the lights in much of Cape Girardeau. We aren't as nonchalant about thunderstorms as we might have been a month ago.

DC lit candles on the porch. Lucy sat on the swing with her. I took out my guitar and played every James Taylor song I know, hoping to soothe DC and calm our little beagle Alvie's terror of thunder.

Good night you moonlight ladies

rockabye sweet baby James

deep greens and blues

are the colors I choose

won't you let me go down in my dreams

and rockabye sweet baby James

James Taylor has a reassuring effect on me, but Alvie shook until the storm moved across the river.

Storm after storm has soaked Southeast Missouri this spring, making it difficult for gardeners to plant and for golfers to play. DC is itching to rototill. I yearn to trade in the driving range for a golf course.

But the older you get, the more experiences you have, the less feeling sorry for yourself ever makes sense. Everyone in the world is lucky to be alive. And when we die, we will be lucky to have lived.

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.