I grew up on the coast of Florida. One of my favorite memories of childhood is standing on the sea wall and leaning forward as far as I could while the winds off the ocean pushed back hard enough that I couldn’t fall. This only happened during tropical storms – those storms that never quite passed the wind strength threshold into hurricane force winds, but were strong enough to create dramatic and impressive weather. I loved the wildness, the forcefulness, and the absolute abandon the winds created. I felt free – almost like I was flying while standing still – a kite of sorts, being buffeted around, yet staying in place.
I never imagined when I moved to Colorado 12 years ago that I would have the opportunity to experience a hurricane in my new home. After all, I am how many miles from the nearest coast? I lived in Florida for 20 years and never experienced a hurricane; however, yesterday in Colorado we got pretty darn close.
Somehow without the raging surf and dark thunderhead on the horizon, the wild wind didn’t carry the same romanticism that it did when I was a child. Coming home to my patio furniture spread out over our neighbors’ yards, trash cans overturned and blown into the trees (because of course today was trash pick up day), and broken tree branches in our yard causes me to take a deep breath and sigh over the time and effort it will take to pick up from the weather’s temper tantrum.
Is it a function of my age that I don’t live in the moment and fly with the wind anymore? Or is it the anomaly of having a hurricane in the middle of a land locked state throwing me off? I don’t know. I do know that the incessant noise from the intense winds has the dogs and kids on edge. The trash blown around will take hours to clean up and the wind in our arid climate is drying out our already parched plant life. Hurricane winds? You’re lost. Go back to the ocean where you belong.