One thing I love about living in Cammack Village is the tree-lined streets. In the summertime, it looks like you’re driving through a tunnel of trees. The tall pines and oaks reach across the street and touch, providing a shady existence to the folks that reside in this little hamlet. It’s particularly pretty on my street, Longwood.
That scenic drive will never look the same after the storms that struck on April 4.
I have just returned home after dinner with friends when young Gabe, a neighbor, knocks on my door. His father has recently purchased a smoker, and Gabe offers up some ribs and chicken. Nice, I think. That’s tomorrow’s dinner. I put it in the fridge, pop on the tube and grab a magazine to read.
I notice the TV is broadcasting an outline of the state and a weather warning. Isn’t that always on TV? A while later the station interrupts regular programming for a weather report. It seems Benton and Bryant are under the gun with a storm. A car lot has been hit with a potential tornado. Hmmm. I’ll stay tuned.
Then I see that Cammack Village is a potential target, according to the station’s tracking system. I figure I’d better stay up and pay attention. It’s 9:45 p.m. The projected time of arrival for the severe storm is 9:55 p.m.
I hear a spotter is on Markham Street. Transformers are popping. Trees are bending. My big window looks out to the south and west. I’m seeing the same things. I move close to the bathroom. Isn’t that where you’re supposed to go? I’m not sure.
The local weather person says the storm should be moving into North Little Rock soon. My lights go out. The rain and wind have stopped. It’s completely quiet now. Ten seconds go by. Did the storm just pass? No! It’s charging up from my back yard. The whistling starts. It gets louder, louder, even louder.
There’s the train sound. I fall back in the bathtub into a fetal position. I hear glass breaking. The house is shaking. It’s going to explode. I am lifted up and put right back down. One more BOOM and it is quiet again.
My God, what just happened? I get up and look around the corner in my living room. It looks as if it’s snowing in my house — insulation from my roof. There is still one sound I can hear. I look up and it’s the 100-year-old oak from my back yard settling into my living room.
This isn’t happening, I think. I walk outside and see a war zone. Trees everywhere.
A neighbor comes out. You OK? Me too. Wow! I walk through, around, over all the trees and wires to the police station. Not a scratch on me. Amazingly, everyone survived on Longwood that night.
A couple of days later young Gabe finds me sitting on my oak tree, staring at all the insurance people, tree service people and Good Samaritans helping out on my street. He must have sensed that I was a little depressed.
“Johnny, I’m sorry about your house and everything,” Gabe says.
“Thanks, Gabe,” I say.
“You know, when something like this happens, the earth replenishes itself and things grow back and things get better,” Gabe says to me.
I don’t know how Gabe got so smart, but he’s right. I think when I rebuild, I’ll plant a tree. No, two or three. Maybe the other homeowners will do the same. And maybe 30 or 50 years from now, someone will be driving on Longwood and look up and marvel at the tunnel of trees that touch each other way up in the sky. Beautiful!