I have never loved my house more than the afternoon Mother Nature threatened to take it away.
Earlier that Monday morning, the weather forecast looked like the southwest suburbs might catch the very bottom of a front set to pass over the Chicago area that afternoon.
“I hope we get some rain out of it,” I’d said. It hadn’t rained in nearly a month, not since the last line of raging storms, and my gardens could use a drink.
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Just after noon, tornado sirens began to blare and the skies darkened. I moved a few potted plants closer to the house.
In retrospect, I should have battened down the hatches.
I grew up with a mother who was terrified of storms. Whenever there was even the tiniest hint of bad weather, plans were canceled and emergency supplies were stocked in the basement.
She would literally shake if the sirens went off.
And with good reason.
We had endured the violent 1967 Oak Lawn tornado. I have vivid memories of sitting with her and my siblings on the basement steps of our Markham home. My dad was at work.
Thirty-three people died and 500 more were injured in that storm. Neighborhoods were leveled.
Catastrophic tornadoes also wreaked havoc on Plainfield in 1990, Utica in 2004 and Fairdale in 2015.
And that was back before Illinois became the nation’s leader in tornado reports.
As kids are inclined to do, I bounced back quickly and storms became more of an adrenaline rush for me. I worked as a reporter and was more intrigued than scared by the ferocity.
Once, several people on our news staff were reprimanded for running toward the glass vestibule to view an oncoming funnel cloud instead of seeking shelter in the building’s hallway.
“Have some respect for nature,” our editor had yelled.
Things are different now. The storms are more frequent and I’ve surveyed the aftermaths too many times.
And so, on July 27, in the minutes before an EF-0 tornado touched down in nearby Orland Park and an EF-1 descended upon other nearby towns, we grabbed the dog and took shelter.
For what seemed like an eternity, rain, wind and hail slammed the west side of our house. Our pergola and outdoor furniture were blown against the shed. Plants were uprooted, trees knocked down, branches sent flying and errant leaves splattered against the windows.
My heart beat fast. My hands shook.
Suddenly, or at last, I understood my mother’s panic. It is quite uncomfortable.
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So is anger.
Of course, human life is more valuable than possessions. Of course, things can be replaced while people cannot. Of course, I was worried for everyone I love.
But I also saw the life of my house pass before my eyes.
The day we moved in. The school backpacks at the bottom of the stairs. The hawk that spent a night on our front porch. The time an upstairs fish aquarium shattered, sending water down through the kitchen light fixture (the fish survived).
The graduation parties, the Christmas Eve dinners, the cul de sac happy hours during COVID, the installation of a preordered maple tree on the very day my father died, prompting me to create a memory garden.
So often we can’t see the beauty of our homes for all its blemishes. Marketing campaigns and social media hammer us with ideas for fixing, updating or simply changing just about everything. How can we be happy with yesteryear’s paint color?
But in recent months, I have been fixated on how much I love my home, flaws and all. It is more than a shelter. It is my joy, the place where I can both hide from or welcome others, the place where I can try new things or simply sit and do nothing.
I’ve come to love the unbalanced layout, the mystery soffit, the dated golden oak trim.
Everyone should have a place where they are comfortable, inspired and free to be who they are.
Over the years, we have invested money and time maintaining our home, giving it personality and trying to protect it from forces that would do it harm. It has become an extension of us, a family member, you might say.
And so, as the winds railed that afternoon, I shouted to the heavens, “Don’t you dare take down our house.”
I imagine so many others have shouted the same. As climate change envelopes this planet, vicious storms, widespread flooding and terrifying wildfires are now commonplace. So many people, animals and homes have succumbed to the changing weather patterns.
We have gone too far in our neglect and abuse of this planet. And Mother Nature can’t help but react with fury.
The post-mortem on the Monday afternoon storms revealed multiple EF-0 and EF-1 tornadoes across the Chicago suburbs. Winds and hail damaged buildings and took down trees in Hazel Crest, Lansing, Country Club Hills, Wheaton and Glen Ellyn. The damage was extensive, the power outages and flooding were widespread.
So now we clean up.
And worry for next time.
Donna Vickroy is an award-winning reporter, editor and columnist who worked for the Daily Southtown for 38 years. She can be reached at [email protected].
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