I've spent most of my life living under a thunderstorm (aka: T-storm) warning, wind advisories and tornado watches. Yes, growing up in the smallest county is southern Oklahoma has taught me many things. I watched in horror at a young age on the small TV in our living room the destruction of May 3rd, and cried when my mother put my sister and I under a bed in our back bedroom of the small, brick farmhouse because the hail was so bad the windows were being busted out.
Although I've never been in a tornado (to the best of my knowledge), I have been in more close calls than I care to count. Just last summer a mile down our road, houses were leveled and trees stripped of bark. A few weeks ago I spent a Friday night in the basement of a sorority house with my dog. This time of the year is met with such uncertainty. Yes, spring in Oklahoma is as beautiful as a rose and as deadly as a fiddleback.
The funny thing is, we don't really have a summer here. I guess it's not really funny, just a fact that you learn to live with. Our winters are bordered with a few good weeks in the fall before it turns a kind of bitter cold that makes everything look sad. The good weeks in spring are breathtakingly beautiful where the red earth gives way to the vivid green of grass and budding trees. Then, the warmth drips away with a hot, humid wind and an unstable atmosphere. It's during these fleeting weeks that make the rest of the year---the bitter winter and cruel summer--bearable to be here.
As I am making sun tea on our porch (to the shock of my roommates who think I'll get sick from it not being in the icebox) and avoiding studying for my finals I feel as if this summer will feel unsettled. I have a little more than 20 credit hours left of my undergrad career, and two internships that I'll be doing this summer. Something about this weather makes me lonesome for the lake and for my grandmother's house that is cool and dark even during the hottest of summers. I guess this is growing up, isn't it?
-Meg
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