There’s a new weather word to know and it’s called Derecho.
Today is Friday August 14, 2020. I am currently at the Public Space One free internet cafe situated outside between the Iowa City Press Coop and Center for Afrofuturist Studies. I would like to tell my story about derecho.
I currently live in Morse. Wait, scratch that. I currently live in a hotel. It wasn’t very long ago that I actually moved out to Morse. I am a recently engaged person with a man I went on a first date with around one year ago to the day. He bought a foreclosed home out in Morse and fixed it up with friends about five years ago.
For work I am a Library Assistant at the University of Iowa Hospitals & Clinics Patients and Children’s Libraries. Last week, or about three days before derecho hit, I finished up my coursework for a masters in library and information science.
On Monday, when the storm was heading towards us I first found out while checking my phone at work. I was pleased to see that we were in a severe thunderstorm warning — I’m from Iowa after all. I also typically fail to look at the radar, if you’re from out of state and thinking “But didn’t you see that big storm on the radar?” However, even if I did I’m not sure my brain would comprehend the insanity that lay ahead. Several days after, while my fiance and I talk about what happened to our state, I realized that nothing could have prepared me for derecho. This experience was my preparation. (Not his). I’ll be damned if I don’t formally prepare for every storm from this point forward.
But, back to August 10. The severe thunderstorm warning was set to expire at 12:45 pm, which lined up perfectly with my lunch break. Typically, I take my lunch on the UIHC rooftop while listening to River to River. So like any other day I made my way to a table at about 12:20 pm. The sky was deep blue in parts and it was breezy. There was no sun in my eyes and it was pleasant. As a born and raised Iowan, I can’t tell you how many times an intimidating storm has threatened to hit and then suddenly didn’t, making its way south or north from where I was at, losing strength or fizzling out altogether. At about 12:35 a UIHC staff member came on the rooftop to ask everyone (about ten people altogether) to head inside on account of the impending storm. This was a little disheartening because I think we all had the same idea. We would stay on the roof until it started to rain. Simple as that.
I’d say less than ten minutes after we got inside the sky turned navy blue. I’ve told this story twice to people where I’ve pointed to the darkest navy blue shade before us — once it was a Big Grove Easy Eddy can, and the other a friend’s car.
Just inside the rooftop dining area, a few of us UIHC employees expressed to each other about how much we loved storms while eating our lunches (six feet apart, of course). This was nice! One thing I love about working at UIHC are the random conversations and moments of connection that begin with other employees in the elevators.
Then, the wind started. There are a couple trash cans on this roof, since it is where people eat, which whirled all over the rooftop. The flexible outdoor furniture that had been more or less fixed to their positions twirled, as if they were ballerina feet. The way we all knew it was serious was for the fact that we could all feel the storm, eight stories high, within Iowa’s top rated hospital. As a storm lover myself, there have been handfuls of summer storms that I have missed that my fiance has experienced while I’ve been at work while he has been at work on the road (his job includes a lot of driving and delivering in Iowa City as owner and founder of both Cobra Verde and Wake Up Iowa Coffee). The lights flickered and the generator kicked in, which was a definitive sign that things were indeed severe.
When I was little, I was fascinated with storms. I grew up just an hour northeast of Iowa City off of Highway 151 in a small town called Cascade. You may have recently heard of it if you’re a baseball fan — a new pitcher on the Cubs roster, Colin Rea grew up nearby in an even smaller community named Bernard and was also a classmate of mine. Cascade was named as such because of a waterfall that used to exist there, which was centrally located downtown and served the North Fork Maquoketa River. That is, until June 15, 1925 when a flood ravaged the downtown and at the other side the town namesake was kaput. When I was little I loved watching storms. Sometimes in the middle of the night I would wake my mom up to ask her if the storm was a quote “severe thunderstorm.” I do remember waking up at least a couple times early in the morning (or was it during the middle of the day over a nap hour?) watching the sky change shades. I was always on the lookout for green because my parents told me that was the worst. I also looked for the stillness, the calm before the storm.
There are two doors that lead to the rooftop and these both flung, as if they were leaping, flinging themselves out and then back again and bringing rain with it. After I finished eating, I went to a friend’s office to talk and express “holy shit!” to one another. There are no windows leading outdoors in her office, but even through the thick walls we were able to hear a swirling and swooshing of wind hissing with gumption. In other words, it sounded like a soundbite that one would use in a cartoon to achieve the sound of wind. My friend used the word “emphasized” to describe this sound. Indeed, the sound of the wind emphasized and heeded warning on the days ahead. Or how many people felt it as-seconds, minutes, and hours of an unimaginable reality. The home I lived in did lose its ability to be a house, but I did not lose the ability to find comfort and resources not too far away. The feeling for me was harsh and overwhelming with the immediate knowledge and understanding that things could have been so much worse. Indeed, the first sign of luck came to us when my fiance saw several crushed cars in the Iowa City area. The privilege of having our own form of transportation was not lost on either of us.
When I went back to work after my lunch break, I remembered that my co-worker, who was still working, was supposed to have been picked up from work already. She was on the phone and my boss had the radar pulled up at one of our desktop computers. The update was that my coworker’s driver was stuck where they were, in a tiny town between Iowa City and Cedar Rapids called Swisher. I decided to ask to excuse myself when I found this out, so that I could call Jarrett. I had a hunch that during this time he was driving — this time coming from Cedar Rapids after spending time with his mother. When we talked he told me that he noticed a lot of downed tree branches, but the conversation made it seem as if he fortunately had lucked out on the drive and didn’t get caught in that awful howling wind. To put this in perspective, entire grain bins were crushed from derecho, big vehicles and trucks were turned over, the sturdiest most massive trees were uprooted, in addition to cars being crushed. About an hour later I looked at my phone and suddenly received four of the same message from my fiance “it’s fucking crazy out here.” (The repetition was a result of the power outage which I understood as such in seeing the same text over and over). Not too long after, he sent pictures of the front of our house after the storm with an admission that a hole punctured through our bedroom and brought with it a sizable branch, pushing our bed frame about a foot away from its position against the wall and sending debris out and down.
After calling Jarrett outside in the hall, I went back to the library. My boss and coworker asked if I had any updates so I said that there was a hole in my house and quite embarrassingly showed them the picture. Then, I did a few other deliveries to patients at the library and excused myself from my shift. I am fortunate to work for an institution and boss who listened and understood this situation and allowed me to leave work an hour early. I consider myself lucky that this was the case, honestly — as sad as that sounds. I am extremely fortunate, but not just because of that.
When I got home to Morse, I saw branches as large as entire trees around our house, so many that I thought to myself: I knew we had trees, but have we always had this many? I saw the hole after slowly turning my head around our room and winding up at the last piece of ceiling to inspect. Jarrett and our neighbor were both looking at all the branches and were in the beginning stages of discussing how they would work together to make everything ok. They have both lived out in Morse for several years and it is not uncommon for branches to fall during storms there every so often. Morse is in total 15–20 households (I think?) but otherwise it is situated in the country, up against farmland and right along Rapid Creek. At this time, none of the three of us knew how serious the situation was. “Now you have definitely got the real Morse experience!” They said, with a chuckle. We’re Iowans, so no matter how bad something gets there’s always room for a giggle or two, and believe me-we love to laugh.
Soon after, Jarrett went on the roof, with Adam holding the ladder. This is when the cost set in. While up there, he noted that there were 15 or 16 holes on the roof- in addition to the massive one coming through our bedroom. At this point, structural damage was likely. The power was out, which of course meant the internet was out. What I didn’t realize, having been a new rural resident, was that the power being out additionally meant that our well wouldn’t be able to pump.
This next paragraph is an advertisement for having a landline, as it was a godsend that Jarrett already had a landline. On a normal day in Morse, cell service in our home is very trying. I can’t lie, it’s been fun reintroducing myself to relying on the landline. Before derecho several of my family members have known to try the landline if I don’t answer my cell. The landline is then how Jarrett and I were able to communicate over the next few days. Fortunately my parents also had a landline, as we also realized that landline to landline connection made for the least amount of cut outs. But I’ll rewind a bit, because I’ve already fast forwarded a bit in my account.
After I called my mom when I saw the destruction around our house, Jarrett and I both decided the best point of action would be for me to stay with my parent’s house in Cascade. Our house was already small, and with the bedroom being unusable, he didn’t mind “boy scoutin’ it” (as he adorably called it) while he said he would figure it out, fire up the chainsaw, file the insurance claim, and so on and so forth. Along with friends and neighbors, he spent the following days chainsawing and clearing, and then learning how to function with two dogs and a couple businesses to manage. Believe me, I felt guilty leaving and wouldn’t have left if Jarrett didn’t think it was the best decision, either. He needed to be able to focus and move forward with the news of his home being damaged and potentially lost.
I don’t have much to say about being home, because it was obviously both hard and heartwarming at the same time. It also happened to be the week of my parent’s 42nd anniversary. What better way to spend an anniversary than with their youngest child whose fiance is currently cosplaying as a superhero from afar to pick up the pieces after derecho? Anyway, my privilege is not lost on me. At the end of the few days when we were approved for a hotel, I couldn’t wait to go back to Iowa City to be with my literal superhero. Oh, and to cuddle and kiss our two dogs who, if you haven’t heard, are basically Instagram stars now.
A light at the end of the tunnel. Yesterday was our first of possibly 25 days in a hotel that is being paid for by my fiance’s insurance company. There is more to this story, of course, but this is mine and it certainly isn’t over. However, this story is certainly not my fiance’s. His story, if you hear it, is much, much, much different.
At the end of the day, we are fortunate to have been documented as having been affected. Many people are unable to say the same out here in eastern Iowa. I have donated to the Hawkeye Area Community Action Plan (HACAP), which is a nonprofit serving six Iowa counties and have been coordinating food and disaster relief in the area. I will continue to donate funds and in the future hope to be in a position to donate my time as well.
