Storm Inspectors: A Story and a Metaphor

When we were young, my brother and I were Storm Inspectors. (Parenthetical instruction: you must always hear "Storm Inspectors" with a gravelly, dramatic voice.)

It was, I admit, a self-designated position. Nevertheless, the job was a Very Important One on our island. When a gargantuan monsoon rainstorm came rolling in, we grabbed our umbrellas, slipped on our flip-flops, and sallied forth down the back stairs of our house-on-stilts and out into the storm. Storm Inspectors (Remember: gravelly, dramatic voice) would not sit inside and look out through the louvered glass window panes. Never!!! It was crucial to get into the rain, to walk around the hospital compound with water pouring down upon and through the fabric of our little umbrellas, and to observe from the middle of it what the storm was doing.

Monsoon rainstorms are up to no good. The winds blew so hard that the coconut trees bent hard away from the battering gale. Branches from our jacaranda tree were ripped off and hit the ground. Wet rambutan leaves and plumeria blossoms littered the rain-soaked grass. The gutters flowed fast and hard with runoff water, sending a shrew or two skittering off to find a new hiding place. Palm fronds fell across the roads. We'd clear them away so that our parents could drive in or out from the housing area.

One time the Storm Inspectors--including the neighbor girl Julia--rounded the corner on our little one-lane road just in time to hear the thunder crack simultaneously with a lightning bolt. It struck at a coconut palm about 75 yards from us, knocking the tree off its short roots. The tree fell away from us, landing with a great thump on the lawn behind the hospital cafeteria. It didn't hit any structures or people. But we all stood stock still, rather taken aback as we considered how it might have been a different story had the palm fallen our direction.

As one who has inspected storms of all kinds, I have observed several things. First of all, storms are stronger than you think. They cause damage. They disrupt your life and your living circumstances. You can lose power. You may lie awake worrying. They are the epitome of "too much" in terms of trouble. Too much rain, too much wind, too much damage.

Second, you learn more from storms by living through them, not just watching them. We learned a great deal in our jobs as Storm Inspectors (Don't forget the gravelly, dramatic voice). You can't avoid storms. But while you're frightened or dealing with the "too much" that storms bring your way, it pays to be able to stand outside your mind, so to speak, and to be observant. You learn how the storms affect you, but you may also find that you are developing your own survival skills.

Third, the storm will eventually end. Always. That provides hope, even if the storm has knocked out your power, punched leaks in your roof, deafened you with the thunder, or nearly drowned you with the "too much" of it all.

And finally, a storm will always leave a permanent effect. Sure, you can clean up, dry off, and put things back in their places. But branches or trees that have fallen, stay fallen. Water damage is still there when the storm is over. And if a power surge has fried your electronics, they are still fried even after the sun comes out.

Those are the observations of a veteran Storm Inspector. Over and out.