Rumbles

Coastal areas have their hurricanes. Fault lines have their earthquakes. Tropical lands have their monsoons. And the prairies have their thunderstorms. Big, roiling, pack-a-punch storms that threaten man and beast. Perhaps the intensity of our storms is magnified by the fact that we have few obstructions as we view a storm's development and course of action.

Long before Doppler radar and other such high tech detection devices, denizens of the plains learned to read the preface of imminent storms. Nature still sends cues to the observant. Some days begin with a heavy heat, laden with moisture and stillness. As the afternoon settles into evening, puffy, pillowy mammatus clouds signal a change in atmospheric conditions. Sometimes, the pregnant skies unpack themselves with little fanfare and other times, wind and hail are unleashed, forcing all to run for cover.

The gentle build up of marshmallowy clouds reaching toward the heavens often results in a cumulonimbus reminder that the day could end with a loud punctuation point. Flashing lights within the cloud mountain remind us that the show is just beginning. The direction of the air currents will determine whether the weather's instability will be viewed from afar or in our backyard.

Add a flattened anvil to the top of a cumulonimbus cloud and there is little doubt that a sucker punch is about to happen. It is best not to be out in the open when such a stormy beast rears its vicious head. Flash flooding and pelting hail can make for a miserable outdoor experience. Vehicles offer little comfort as the pounding of ice bullets threatens to break windows and smash eardrums.

Rip a cumulonimbus cloud to murky shreds and a wall cloud begins to form. The steely darkness slowly grinds along as it unleashes the turbulent pressure of the day. The air is filled with a mineral smell and fickle winds flutter and puff with a warning to take heed, now. The leading edge of a wall cloud threatens with cotton candy wisps, swirling into a vortex of danger. Daylight is stamped out by an inky curtain. At times, the prairie gets by with a scrubbing of horizontal sheets of rain and tumbling hailstones. Other times, a funnel flits between earth and sky, reminding all in its path that we are not in control.

We are entering storm season in the upper Midwest. The steamy moisture of the south is ready to duke it out with the icy chill of the tundra. This spring already gave us a schizophrenic thumping of snow, thunderstorms and tornadoes all in the same day, wreaking havoc with homes, travel and livestock. As spring unfolds into summer, there is only one constant. Storms.

Watch the sky. Be prepared. Revel in something bigger than yourself. And above all, know when to go underground. Prairie thunderstorms are equal opportunity events.

(No pictures of thunderstorms to share with you. Unlike my husband, I am usually in the basement when bad weather is brewing. If you like to look at clouds, NOAA has a great Sky Watcher Chart and information for the inner meteorological nerd in all of us.)