I heard it coming. I smelled it coming. I felt it coming. I saw it coming.
The wind chimes that my mother and my sister just sent me for my birthday began singing softly in the warm breeze.
I walked outside on the back porch to hang up the boys’ wet towels that were now strewn across my living room floor. They should have been doing it themselves, but I walked outside to hang them on the clothes line. Hanging laundry is one of my favorite things to do when I’m back in Europe.
Curious
I was curious. Something was coming. I could feel it in the air.
Bernie had followed me outside. He stuck his nose up in the air and began sniffing. He could smell it. He could hear it. He could feel it. He could see it.
He didn’t hesitate, but quickly went inside. He didn’t like what was coming.
The gentle breeze turned quickly into a strong, gusty wind. Something inside of me awakened. Memories—memories of my homeland—the good ‘ole Midwest of the United States of America. Memories of storms suddenly flooded my mind. My favorite storms were the summer thunderstorms.
I really miss Midwest thunderstorms. It’s on my list of “All the Things I Will Miss.”
Memories in My Mind
I could still hear them, smell them, feel them, see them . . . in my fading memory. I don’t have pictures of the storms, but I have memories and vivid images in my mind.
The wind kept picking up, and I realized that it wasn’t worth hanging the damp towels on the outside clothesline. The thick clouds danced in swirling circles overhead.
A storm was approaching.
A ran to get Pierre and my phone.
“Come, quick, outside with me!”
We ran outside and sat on the wooden bench on our front porch. We watched. We waited.
What is it?
“What is it?” Pierre asked with apprehension in his voice.
I realized that my youngest child wasn’t used to thunderstorms. He had spent very little time in the Midwest. He didn’t have the childhood memories in his mind that I had.
I can still remember waking up in the middle of the night with my big sister, watching and waiting at the window. We loved to listen to the distant thunder rumble and approach, counting the seconds between the claps of thunder and the bright bursts of light. As the time span diminished, we knew that the storm would soon be knocking on our front door.
We loved to watch the lightening show—God’s display of power and beauty. It was a spectacle—not one to be feared, but one to be revered, to be enjoyed.
“A storm is coming,” I told Pierre.
He grabbed my leg and said, “I’m scared.”
“You don’t need to be scared. Storms are beautiful,” I held him reassuringly.
Beautiful!
I don’t advocate crazy “storm chasing,” and I have seen—but never experienced personally—the devastation of being in the path and the eye of a storm. However, from a safe distance, storms are beautiful to watch.
Vincent quickly gathered all of the plastic balls, floaties, and other items from the swimming pool and back porch that risked damage in the fast-approaching storm.
This was a first—our first thunderstorm in Spain. I will add that to my list of the “Days of Firsts.”
Waiting Patiently
I’m here now. I wait patiently for it to come.
A few straggling birds fly frantically, seeking shelter quickly. Disturbed dogs bark in the distance. They can hear it. They can smell it. They can feel it. They can see it.
The colors of the sky quickly change from blue to pink to orange to brown to grey to black on one side of the house. The dark shadows seem to gain ground.
It is so cool outside, I almost stop long enough to run inside to grab a sweater.
Front Row Seat
I don’t stop. I don’t want to miss a single second of this spectacle. It’s a free show, and I’m sitting on the front row. I have a VIP seat.
Not wanting to miss a minute of this rare gift, I snatch my computer from the dining room table and head outside. That’s where I sit now—at the table on my back porch.
The wind chimes have picked up their song. The breeze has picked up its strength. The temperature has picked up its coolness. The distant thunder has picked up its volume. The thick storm clouds have picked up their darkness. The lightening has picked up its brightness. The raindrops have picked up their speed.
The rain drops begin to pitter, patter. The distinct smell of dust fills the air as the dirt collides with water. Lightening bursts blow up in the evening skies in the midst of the black clouds. I sit sheltered underneath the awning and the green vines that wrap themselves tightly around it. Here, I am safe, protected . . . happy.
I listen as the rain drops increase little by little. The thunder increases in frequency and volume. I am not afraid.
Then, it comes!
A storm. It’s here. “It’s raining! It’s pouring!”
Music to My Ears
This sound is music to my ears. It’s heavenly.
With the intensity of the wind and rain, drops of water begin to splatter on my computer screen. The storm pushes me inside. I pull a sweatshirt over my head and pull up a chair next to the open door.
I don’t want to miss a single second of this spectacle. It’s a free show, and I’m sitting on the front row. I have a VIP seat.
It’s a storm. My first thunderstorm in Spain. I am one happy Midwest girl!
—The Cultural Story-Weaver
Let’s Weave Cultures!
Are there certain things, certain experiences—like thunderstorms—that you miss when you travel and live abroad? If so, what are they?
We invite you to tell us your own cultural stories and global adventures . . . as you engage with the world, breaking down barriers, building bridges, and “weaving cultures!” Write about them in the comment box below.
Great story! I could almost smell that rain while listening to your video. There is nothing better than a good thunderstorm when you haven’t had one for a long time, and I think everyone can relate to the anticipation of a good storm coming and the wonderful smells in the air.
It was the most wonderful feeling and sound. Sure made me miss being “home” in the Midwest!