My brother, Paul, and his wife, Debee, pulled into the Saint Joe truck stop somewhere around five o’clock Monday morning. I gave them a couple of hours to sleep in the truck before going over to bring them to our place. They got here from Ohio in time to meet Jay and his kids, who headed back to South Dakota mid-afternoon.
I got my payback Tuesday morning; Paul and Debee had to be back out to the truck stop by five-thirty. They headed on up I-35 to deliver their load and I headed back home to rest mine for a little while longer. I texted Paul in between my bouts of working on the house and running errands and found out they’d had to wait for a few hours before they could unload and had missed getting to the next place in time to get loaded out that afternoon.
He called from a hotel in Shenandoah, Iowa, to see if we were having any storms. It was cloudy and threatening looking but we had no active storms at the moment. While I was talking to him, I turned on the TV just in time to see a long line of red radar blotches stretching across Nebraska and Iowa. I think he and Debee were pretty much smack dab in the middle of the system.
Apparently, they had a head start on the hail and heavy rain but we did some catching up later. The second or third session of hail here not only woke me up but also sufficiently motivated me to turn on the TV and check for a possible tornado warning. There wasn’t one. I turned off the television and went back to sleep, at least until the next little hail cell arrived. The sound of ice balls pounding against gutters and metal flashing has a relatively pronounced capacity for sleep disturbance.
Sharing the storms even we aren’t together is a part of being family, part of loving one another. At our house, so are waffle breakfasts and twenty-minute tours of Saint Joseph architecture. Although my preference is for the latter, adding the other builds the better bonds.