There’s a stereotype about Midwesterners and tornados: whenever a warning is issued and severe weather is approaching, they set up a lawn chair, pop open a beer, and watch the storms roll in.
I always assumed this laissez-faire attitude toward extreme weather was an exaggeration. And then Friday happened.
Right around the time I clocked out for the day, the sky began looking ominous. The radar showed an intense squall line of supercells heading directly for us.
All kinds of weather alerts followed, including a Tornado Warning. I was preparing to head for the basement until I glanced out the living room window and saw Neighbor Brian strolling down the street…in the opposite direction of his house, seemingly oblivious to the growling thunder and jagged streaks of lightning swiftly approaching. Figuring this lifelong Wisconsinite knew what he was doing, I threw caution to the steadily increasing wind myself and headed outside to chat with him. And found several other neighbors gathered outside, all watching the incoming shelf cloud that was racing across the sky directly toward us. Honestly, it was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.
Now I get why Midwesterners do this!
All along, I was texting with Shelly, the Airstreamer who is trading in life on the road for a permanent home in Madison, of all places. (I’m sure this decision is 100% because of me.) She and her husband, Tracy, are currently parked at a campground in Stoughton, and I’m pretty sure their travel trailer doesn’t have a basement, so I was keeping her in the weather loop.
I was also texting Tara, urging her to get the hell home. She didn’t leave work in Cottage Grove until 6:20, the line of storms nipping at her heels the whole way. She arrived literally just in time: two minutes after pulling into the garage, the storm hit with full fury. The rest of the evening we had thunder, lightning, rain, gusty winds – but thankfully, no twisters. After the initial excitement, it turned into a moody, rumbly, chill evening.
My favorite kind.
We paddled on Ripley, believe it or not.
Saturday was much calmer, so we decided to go kayaking. This was our first paddle of the season…which seems late, but I swear, every weekend is too something. Hot, wet, busy, fill in your excuse du jour. We’ve had visitors. Sometimes, we’ve just been lazy. I suppose we could go during the evening – we did that once and were treated to a beautiful sunset – but more often than not, it’s hard for us me to find the motivation to break away from my recliner on a school night.
In any case, we were plenty motivated yesterday. And it never fails: the moment I dip my paddle in the water for the first time and push off from shore, all my cares seem to magically melt away. “I’ve missed this!” I inevitably say to Tara, and without fail, I wonder aloud what took us so long to make it happen. I used to feel this way whenever I’d visit the ocean. I guess large bodies of water just have a calming effect on me.
Lake Ripley is in Cambridge, one town over, so it’s an easy 15-minute drive. This was our first time there, and I’ve gotta say, I’d rank it as my favorite lake for kayaking so far. We spent about 90 minutes on the water, and though the clouds darkened at one point and it spit rain for a few minutes, the weather was ideal.
Afterward, we stopped by Cash & Olive’s Pub in Cambridge for a late lunch. We’d never been there either and walked in right in the middle of a raucous bingo tournament. Didn’t participate ourselves, but they do this every Saturday at 2 p.m. year-round, so the odds are 100% that we’ll be back.
Mark My Words 
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