I felt a little off today; maybe it was partly the impending stormy weather. Cloudy and warm and windy all day. There was a lot to do at ALT. The posters finally appeared--they are lovely. I took them to two bike shops. I also had a computer student to fit in. Ray had a late faculty meeting, so we didn't get home in time to make supper for potluck, but did make supper for us, using up the chicken we cooked a few days ago. We were a few minutes late to choir and only stayed an hour because we will be away when they sing the end of the month.

Lying awake at 3 am, I watch the sky. It is bright behind the interesting heavy clouds. Lightning flashes frequently. I can hear the wind through the cracked-open windows, in keeping with proper tornado precautions.

Earlier, we watched the Weather Channel. Tornado warnings were outlined on the map in red. "Take cover," the man said, gleefully admiring the size and shape of the storm in 3D--the traditional funnel-shaped cloud of a tornado on the ground, which we can see, thanks to radar and technology. It is tall and changes quickly. "It will be there in 2 minutes, go to shelter," he tells residents of Cedartown, Buchanan (pronounced Buck-a-nin), Polar Springs. Towns I have never visited or even heard of are in the path of destruction, an hour to the northwest. The announcer cannot help himself, he is as excited as a boy to have such awe-full weather to report. "Don't try to watch; you cannot judge the power and speed of a tornado by looking. Don't take pictures. Seek safety. This is very dangerous weather." he announces. Hail as big as baseballs, he says. The Birmingham weather station is closed, they have gone to their shelter and warnings are being issued from Tuscaloosa.

So we wait. We go to bed and wake up when the phone rings. A tornado has been sighted. The university warning system has called to tell us to go to shelter. Ray turns on the TV; it is in the southeast corner of the county; we are in the northwest.

As I watch the sky from my bed, I hear faint sounds, strange noises and people yelling far away, but then I realize it is the TV. "What are you watching?" I call down."Hellboy." he answers. I would rather watch the sky and I shut the bedroom door to block out the sounds. As I doze off, he joins me and we are safe. The breezes are cooler now and calmer. I am glad to miss the danger; my house will not be torn down, my chicken coop carried off, my life disrupted.

I was counting on the rain for my garden, though. The young plants are standing expectantly, waiting, weeded and mulched: the broccoli faces exposed, the tomatoes tied to their supports with white strips torn from an old t-shirt. The strawberries are small and not as juicy as they would be after the rain, the lettuce ready to eat will taste better with more rain. The asparagus is shooting up; we get a few stalks every day and have to save them up for a serving. Maybe rain will increase their number. Peas on their vines reaching toward the sky, climbing above the top of their fences. The flat pods will fill out faster and be tastier if we have rain.

But it is quiet now. For three days, storms have been predicted. Twice, I heard thunder, saw dark clouds, and felt wind, but no rain came. Today, the plants will have to be watered. It is a lot of work and not as thorough as a soaking rain, but it must be done.

We are lucky, we do not have to live off the garden as our pioneer ancestors did and people in poverty around the world. And we have water that comes out of a hose whenever we want. But it still must be done if the vegetables are to survive and thrive.