Into the Basement, Again
We were just about ready to write off this Summer of Our Coronavirus Discontent here in Ames — until the tornado sirens went off this past Tuesday night. Up to then, our stay here in the heartland had been quiet, if not somewhat boring. After all, the coronavirus had forced the shutdown or cancellation of almost everything we normally do around these parts. No Bandshell Park concerts. No Summer Sundays concerts at Roosevelt Park. No Fourth of July parade. No dining inside our favorite barbecue restaurant. Yes, Hickory Park is open for indoor eating, but we’re avoiding almost everything “inside” these days and opting for take-out food and dining at our favorite parks.
So it had been a rather mundane summer around here. And then the sirens went off, and truly, they have an amazing ability to focus one’s thoughts and efforts. Once they started wailing around 7 p.m. on Tuesday, Sharon and I calmly took notice, took our time to carefully evaluate and plan our next steps, and then deliberately implemented our well thought-out course of action.
In other words, we immediately bolted out of our condo unit, ran down the stairs as quickly and safely as possible, and headed to our building’s “basement” — actually, to our first floor, which is partially underground. Turns out, the owners of the other two condo units on our third floor had beaten us there. We had a rather nice, if somewhat tense, “reunion” — then proceeded to monitor KCCI-TV’s website, as well as the National Weather Service’s on-line radar images — and waited.
And while we waited, there was plenty of lightning, thunder and rain — lots of rain — at the rate, we later learned, of five inches an hour. We received nearly three inches. Fortunately, the drain in the concrete walkway heading down from our parking area to our lower-level first floor worked — and that floor did not flood, as it has in the past.
Of course, tornado warnings are not new for us. When we lived in Iowa 40 years ago, Sharon and I spent more than a few evenings in the basement of whatever place we were living in. It’s just part of living in this section of the country. So we had “experience.” But since we had bought our “summer home” in Iowa a few years ago, we had not been forced “underground” again — until Tuesday night.
And let me assure you that — no matter how much “experience” you have — your heart still races a bit when those sirens go off. You never expect the twister will hit you, or your home, but it’s still always in the front of your mind that it “could.” 
Well, Tuesday night’s warnings proved to be just that — warnings. No twisters came our way, and after spending a half-hour “down there,” we all decided to meander back upstairs. Sharon and I turned on KCCI to watch ace meteorologist Kurtis Gertz, who had been on-air since our hasty departure, and who would remain on-screen for the much of the rest of the evening.
Yes, television stations take tornado warnings seriously, as they should — and while some viewers likely grew tired of watching the progression of the giant storm across central Iowa — there’s no doubt that stations act in the public interest when they pre-empt their usual network entertainment offerings in favor of coverage of events — like tornadoes — that literally could destroy lives.
So bravo, Kurtis. You and those sirens turned what might have been a sleepy, warm summer evening into an “event.” It wasn’t the type of event we necessarily had signed up for when we returned here this summer, but given what had come before — the almost complete shutdown of our usual activities — it provided a nice, and probably needed, shot of adrenaline.
And I hope that’s the last time we get one of those while we’re here. Yes, enough is enough.