Prologue

I arrived in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma on the 27^th of June 2001.  I was more than familiar with the flat and stormy landscape of the Midwest, but I had forgotten the power of clouds stirring in the plain’s great expanse.  The sky doesn’t seem as great in New Jersey, but here on the open plains, with no shield of skyscrapers or great oaks, the preparation and drama of the brewing storm thrilled me.  I was in twister land. 

How many times growing up were we woken as a family, told by my father to go downstairs and sleep in the basement?  We would watch the weather channel as if it were an action film.  The television pictures had collided with our surroundings.  When the twister was bearing down on our country home the power would fail.  Armed with only a flashlight, I would imagine the carnage and how I’d escape by huddling in the deepest corner of our basement, and then rescue my family from the debris. 

Even now, I was plotting escape from the twister, in our car, although, along the freeway there were no oaks, no homes, nor ditches to crawl into.  This land couldn’t be any flatter.   

I watched my brother Seth, looking for any strains of concern.  He didn’t flinch though my eyes were on him. 

“Is there a tornado watch out?”  I asked.

“I’m not sure,” my brother said as vacantly as the prairie lands surrounding the freeway.  I glanced warily at the ominous licks of clouds, asking my brother whether there was a basement in his new home – there wasn’t.  I shrugged off concern; tornado threats were routine, and my brother’s mind was wandering to his family and home.

Seth was remodeling his house, counting on reselling the home for profit.  He had thought the timing was perfect – to be able to work from home – but was already reevaluating the wisdom of having the guts to his house lying in the backyard and a newborn with nothing to look at other than electrical wiring and plastered walls.  A tornado may have been beneficial. 

         I had come to help with the enthusiasm of a first-time aunt, but was relegated the role of a younger sister: 12-hour days of hauling rubbish, running errands, hanging laundry, and landscaping his front yard in Oklahoma’s merciless heat.  Indentured servitude for the five minutes I was allowed to hold their golden child each evening.  I took their dog Loen for walks rather than confront my brother’s insanity or my own exasperation, while writing frequent e-mails, via stolen time, pleading for reinforcements. 

         My family joined me within several days, traveling down from Minnesota to welcome our first Benjamin.  Holding my nephew was a marker on my heart at the beginning of my travels.  Benjamin’s nose, the curl of his lips, and his penetrating eyes were features that followed me throughout Europe.