The Crimson Storm

All areas in the United States experience severe weather from time to time. Be it floods or hurricanes, it always makes an impact upon the local inhabitants. Minnesota is no exception to this, and during my life time here, there has been only one storm which has caused me to be worried about my own safety. Of course it probably would have not been so bad if I had been at my home at the time.
In the year 1997 in mid July, I was eleven years old and attending the Boy Scouts of America at the Minnesota state fair grounds. All of troop 499 was in attendance, including my father and me. The day had gone by with barely a cloud in the sky and the weather forecast had predicted no rain until late the next day. The day itself was nothing special. A few of the other scouts and me explored the grounds visiting the technology center, the 4-H building and the Got Milk booth. We jested and played like any group of 11 year olds did.
After returning for supper at our designated camp site we ate then set up our tents. The purple and brown basic tents for two scouts were grouped together next to the larger green tent for the three adults. The time between supper and sleep was to be spent at some kind of musical event in the field behind our encampment. I would have preferred not to attend, but it was deemed mandatory.
I daydreamed as the loud music failed to entertain me, until my tent partner, Chris Carlson, brought me back to reality pointing out the western sky. It was impossible to not notice the building storm front. The entire western sky was filled with a massive wall of clouds dyed red by the setting sun. Lightning could be seen jumping across its amorphous surface every so often. I was in awe of its distressing color and ferocity. A subtle crash of thunder resounded just barely above the music alerting everyone nearby, drawing their attention away from the stage. People looked and pointed until one of the stage crew announced that everyone should return to their campsites and make sure to secure their tents.
Everyone hurried back to the tent town and secured their stakes holding down their canvas shelters. Chris and I reinforced our small tent’s metal stakes with bulkier yellow ones as the mounting storm grew closer. We finished just as the rain began to fall and the thunder clapped soon after each flash of lightning. I lay on my side in my cozy sleeping bag listening to storm surge around me, ignoring the wind as it slowly pressed the tent closer towards me. I liked storms all my life and was fascinated by their power. I had camped through one before, so it didn’t seem so bad, I thought to myself. This particular one so far was actually somewhat enjoyable. The unzipping of the tent was barely audible over the deluge, and I merely assumed it was just Chris needing to use the bathroom.
“Bob!” I heard my dad’s voice from outside. I looked to the entrance to see him standing outside wearing his green poncho. “We have to go, Come on!” He shouted above the raging elements. I quickly moved to get my shoes only to find them soaked. “Just take your sleeping bag.” My dad hurriedly exclaimed. Chris and I grabbed my sleeping bag, wrapped ourselves up in it, and dashed outside. The wind and rain and thunder prevented any instructions spoken at less than shouting to be in vain. Chris, my dad, and a few other scouts ran towards the concrete bath rooms for a brief moment of shelter, the wind pulling on the sleeping bag making our movements doubly rigorous. Adrenaline rushed into me giving me the energy to fight the gust and doused any sense of fear I had with excitement. I looked out at the field formerly populated by tents of every color to see them all flattened or missing entirely.
After finally rushing into the safety of the 4-H building we gathered together between two other troops against a wall. Chris and I set down the sleeping bag which was now soaked through, but had kept us relatively dry. We waited for the storm to settle down in the gymnasium sized sanctuary. Rain echoed from the roof and thunder could be felt through the foundation, both resounding in the open space. The adrenaline that had masked my fear now faded and I began to think about how the building might give way, or how others might still be outside trying to endure it. We waited as the sounds from outside raged endlessly. I lost track of time as the night went on, but still could not sleep with the orchestra of nature outside.
Finally, at about 6 am we were told we could leave our massive sanctuary. The outsides in the new day revealed the whole town of tents strewn about, mixed with branches and other debris. My dad suggested taking the kids home to sleep before coming back the next day to clean up. When we arrived at our neighborhood, I noticed how every house had a tree on the ground, including mine. A tree which I had known to be in front of my house for six years, and stood for maybe twenty more was now lying parallel to the street, with its roots exposed.
I could tell that even if I had been home I would have had a rough night. My brother and mom had rushed to the basement the second they heard the crack of the huge tree just outside falling down. Even still I have never been so afraid; and will always make sure to not underestimate nature.