Last night we had the granddaddy of all storms. We were awakened by thunder, getting louder and louder. Lightning lit up the bedroom as if a strobe light had gone berserk. Then the deluge started, thunder rocked the house and hail bombarded it. The view out the window was like that from a submarine, or rather from within a massive waterfall. It was a light and stormy night.
The next morning we saw that the ground was littered with tree leaves. The rain gauge showed almost one inch from a storm that lasted but several wild minutes. The tops of the tomato plants were torn off. The cucumber leaves were shredded. Shrubs were shorn of many of their leaves and the beds of annuals were devastated. The Hostas - well, better not say. The wind itself could not have been too severe as only small, dead tree branches were downed. The hail was quite localized. Areas less than a mile away escaped its damage.
When we returned from a vacation a month ago it was to find almost half of my dreaded black walnut tree hanging down. I was then told of the windstorm that had swept through in our absence. Some people had descended to their basements during that storm in expectation of being blown away. That earlier storm forced me to bite the bullet and my son and I finished the job on the black walnut tree. I now have some expensive firewood seasoning.
A benefit of that earlier storm is that the shrubs that were being attacked by the toxins exuded from the roots of the late black walnut tree will probably recover in a year or two. The Pieris japonica have long since been lost and the two Rhododendron were moved when I found out that the walnut's toxin was effective out to fifty feet beyond its drip line.
Nature is resilient and bounces back when a contrary force is over. The tomato plants will send out new shoots. The bees will find it easier to get to the cucumber flowers now that so many leaves are gone. By next month the beds of annuals will have recovered. The damage from the hail will be repaired. One winter, after a year or more of drying, a black walnut fire will warm the heart that it had previously turned cold.
A different fire only seemed to be a disaster when it happened. One year after the 1988 Yellowstone blaze, life was again visible in the burnt out areas. Grasses and wildflowers quickly carpeted what was once dark understory. Lodgepole pine seedlings were renewing the
