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Granny and the Storm Cellar
Granny and Grandpa Coney lived near Ladonia, Texas. Granny was very
matter-of-fact about everything. However, there was one thing that
terrified her: thunderstorms. Grandpa was not afraid of
anything--especially storms.
Granny's overwhelming fear of
thunderstorms had originated when she was very young. One spring
afternoon, when she was in the barn milking, the sky grew very dark and
the wind began blowing the trees around vigorously. Her mother called,
"Hurry, Ida, a storm is coming. We must get into the cellar."
The storm cellar had a floor, four walls, and a flat top built of planks, much
like a room in a house. Benches were built all around the walls. Dirt
from the excavation covered it. The door made a kind of tunnel or
hallway. A lantern was used for light. Even if a tornado blew the house
away, the cellar was left intact because the wind couldn't get under it.
As the storm cellar was basically a hole in the ground, water that ran into it
stayed there until it finally evaporated. Floors and walls were
mildewed, dark, and musty-smelling. This was conducive to an abundance
of snakes, spiders, bugs, scorpions, and other creepy, crawly things. In
spite of these hazards, Granny's family always elected to enter the
cellar rather than face a dreaded tornado.
On this particular day
Granny's family entered the cellar barely ahead of the storm. They could
hear the roar of the wind and the rain, which was interspersed with
hail, through the cellar door. It made such an uproar that the children
clustered closer around their mother's knees for comfort. Their hearts
were beating wildly and tears were streaming down their little faces.
When something hit the cellar door with a bang, Granny's father began
praying in a loud voice. The tension in that small, crowded cellar was
terrible. Even now, Granny shuddered as she recalled the memory.
The following morning, when they emerged, the scene caused them to gasp.
Tin from their barn roof was scattered over the area. The fence around
the barn lot was missing. Windows in their house were broken, and the
driving rain had soaked the rooms on that side of the house. The cow
that Granny had milked could not be found. Two days later she returned
home, but they never knew where she had been. Their orchard had been
destroyed. Their faithful dog had been crushed by debris. Devastation
was everywhere.
After that, wherever she lived, Granny insisted
upon having a storm cellar. Grandpa had been reared in an area where he
had never seen the effects of a tornado and felt that a storm cellar was
a foolish and unnecessary expense. Granny had obtained his support by
reminding him that the cellar would be used to store canned fruit and
vegetables during the long, hot summer to prevent their spoiling.
When a storm was brewing, Grandpa would say, "It's only peaceful
thunder," and refuse to enter their cellar. He didn't like leaving the
comfort of his bed. In the springtime Granny always watched for
dangerous cloud formations. When one appeared Granny would take the
children, quilts, and lantern to the cellar. Granny wondered how Grandpa
managed to sleep through those storms. She had to admit, however, that
they never had a storm do a lot of damage.
After the children
married and moved away the timbers in Granny and Grandpa's cellar rotted
and it finally collapsed under the weight of the earth on top of it.
They no longer canned their own produce, so Grandpa saw no reason to
replace the cellar. After that, when storms appeared, Granny hid under
the bed.
My family moved into a house north of Granny and
Grandpa's that DID have a storm cellar. Whenever a storm appeared Granny
came trotting up with her lantern, and we would go down into that
terrible dark place. (I must admit I agreed with Grandpa and would much
rather have taken my chances with the elements than those varmints.)
Then, one spring night, Buster (Dad's brother) and his family were visiting
Granny and Grandpa. About midnight, thunder, lightning, and driving rain
began. Granny and her guests awakened us.
Soon we were all in the
cellar. Dad was holding the heavy chain that was bolted to the door,
keeping it shut. The wind was howling so loudly that you could hardly
hear the person sitting next to you. Suddenly the door was almost pulled
from Dad's grasp. He yelled for Buster to help him hold the door against
the wind. They both struggled to hold on to that chain and keep the door
shut. Their faces showed the strain they were under.
We were all
frightened and began crying and praying. It was almost certain that when
we emerged after the storm there would be nothing left of our house, or
Grandpa's.
Grandpa's? This thought brought on a fresh wave of
tears and prayers. Poor Grandpa! If only he had come to the storm cellar
with us, he would have been safe. There was not a doubt in our minds but
that poor Grandpa would be found severely injured, or even dead. The
tears streamed again.
After several minutes, which seemed like
hours, the storm began to subside. The noise of the wind quieted. It was
then that we heard Grandpa's voice. He was yelling to be let into the
storm cellar!
Dad and Buster loosened their grips on the chain
and let him in. Grandpa was really quite upset. For some time he had
been trying with all his might to open that door from the outside, and
had been yelling as loudly as he could for them to let him in. He let
his irritation be known in no uncertain terms.
But for the rest
of that spring, when Granny came to our storm cellar, Grandpa was right
there with her.
Lowell McCormack
Gainesville, Texas
Published:
November 14,
2005
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