Michael D. Davis.

The term ‘derecho’ has been thrown out a few times this week. I don’t know. I’m writing this at 5 a.m. Wednesday morning, so maybe that’s all the noise I hear outside. Either way, I remember the first derecho, you know the one I’m talking about. It has become like the JFK assassination; everyone remembers where they were when it went down. Where was I, you ask? Well, I was on this grassy knoll in Dallas… oh… the derecho? Well, let me tell ya.

I was at home, of course, and asleep. I admittedly slept through most of the ordeal. When I awoke, the eye of the storm seemed to be right overhead, staring its ugly pupil down on the Davis household. The house seemed to be shaking in its boots, as the windows rattled, various items flew by outside, and booms, bangs, cracks, and a whole lot of onomatopoeias shouted through the storm.

It was pitch black, even though it was the middle of the morning. I grabbed my phone and used it as a light and ran into my sister by the dishwasher in the kitchen. It was hard to hear each other with the excited clamor outside, so we both ended up shouting at each other in the dark. The next bit of dialogue has become myth and legend with as many retellings of this story as I’ve done.

“Oh, no,” I shouted, “Ma’s new car is outside.”

“Who cares?” My sister shouted in reply. “Her car already has hail damage. My car is down at D’s!”

Eventually, things calmed down, and we could see some limbs had come down, but nothing major had been hit. My sister’s bench in the front yard was flattened; however, it still retained the cushion. Both cars, we found out later, survived the storm unscathed. Ma’s new car simply retained the slightly hail damaged roof she bought it with.

My father and sister went outside with a variety of equipment, cutting limbs and logs that were scattered about the lawn and blocking the street. I do remember the top of the neighbor’s tree somehow managed to detach and attack our tree. Almost like it jumped across the street. I didn’t help with any of this cleanup or woodwork. I set up a lawn chair on the front porch and just watched. I remember having a timely joke every once in a while that most certainly went unappreciated by my audience.

As I sat, I took pictures and texted Ma, who was at work. She was at the Marshalltown Halfway House and texted saying that at some point, a Dairy Queen sign showed up on the facility’s back lawn.

The days to follow were something as well. We went to the Marshalltown Hy-Vee with crowds of people under a ceiling missing most of its tiles. I can recall, as many were gathering the usual supplies, one man was just gathering bottles of booze, supplies are supplies, I guess. Me, Ma, and my Sister ended up staying at a hotel in Marshalltown for a while as the house had no power. My asthma and summer heat don’t mix, so it was best. My Father, on the other hand, can sleep through a fire, so he just stayed in the house.

Thankfully, we didn’t get hit too badly. And, like with many big storms, there was a silver lining, because when that wind starts going, ya never know what you’re gonna get in your yard. Well, we lost some tree limbs and my sister’s bench in the derecho, but we did gain a garbage can.