Just Wind

Before I tell you about the turkey, let's back up to the sirens. Sirens in Minnesota can vary in meaning. I am not talking about ambulances or squad cars, for those of you living outside the Midwest. I am talking about the severe weather warning sirens that might (emphasis on might) mean a tornado. Most likely they mean severe weather--clouds dark enough to rain.

So, early one June I woke up to he screech of sirens exactly 20 minutes before my alarm was set to do that task.

There was no tornado. It rained.

By 8 a.m. Bug and I were ready to adventure to Saint Peter, MN to research, shoot film and just have fun. In case you are the curious sort, Bug is my 15-year old daughter. With our cameras fully loaded with film, we drove 1/4 of a mile from our home and encountered our first surprise--a turkey!This is no ordinary turkey, mind you. This is a sentinel of Highland Cemetery. Bug knows this to be true. She's been chased by turkeys before. Once, trying to explore the backwoods of the pioneer cemetery and twice just walking past.

Two winters ago, a male turkey left the cemetery woods and stood aloof on a ridge above a major intersection. We'd pass the turkey, going to the store or school and I'd tease Bug that he was stalking her.

The front bumper of a minivan found him before he found her, though. Safe. Bug thought she was safe. But here was a turkey in the soybean field next to the cemetery. The return of the turkey. I stopped; shot two pictures and then my brave 15-year old shouted from inside our truck, "Mom, he's coming!"

I squinted (he was clear cross the field) and said, "Really?"

"Maybe. He moved."

"Well, yeah, he moved. He's posing."

Off again, yet we didn't get too far before we realized why the sirens went off. Trees were strewn across Farmington. Some had been twisted off at the base, others split in half. Huge branches of oak and cottonwood covered rooftops, cars and power lines. We'd turn down one street only to have to find another route.

Bug called her dad to ask if here had been a tornado. No, he hadn't heard. I took the phone and advised him to get his chain saw because people needed help. I needed coffee. But the Farmington Coffee Shop was not accessible.

Making our way out of the tree-strewn maze, we headed south on Hwy. 3, turned west on County Road 19 at Castle Rock and traveled a straight line through the verdant green farmlands of central Minnesota. We discovered coffee in New Prague 30 miles later.

Hastily I ordered a cappuccino breve dry with a flavor shot of caramel. Bug ordered a white chocolate mocha. Our server was friendly so I asked her where she was from. "Wyoming, near Gillette," she answered. Then I noticed a cup on the counter with "Donations for Owner" scrawled in pen.

"What's this for?" I asked, motioning to the cup.

"Oh, the shop's owner lost her roof this morning. Just after she opened up. Trampoline, deck and new grill are all missing, too"

"Was there a tornado?" I asked.

"Nope, just wind."

To me, wind is something that blows across the prairie, shuffles the leaves in a tree and
occasionally knocks over a lawn chair. But when limbs are shorn from trees, trees snapped in half and trampolines whisked out of sight, I say that's not just wind.

Regardless of semantics, we placed change from a $20 bill in the donations cup and suggested that the owner look for her trampoline in Farmington. Before the turkey claims it.