Lordy, Lordy, Yonder Comes A Cloud

 

The clouds sneak up quickly here in the Hominy Valley.  The sky can be blue dotted with cumulus clouds, then in an instant the dark clouds and showers can roll over the peaks of Cold Mountain and Mount Pisgah like an invading army of water with loud artillery blasts. The shower and distant thunder are beginning their march right now. The clouds darken and I am transported in time to the 1950’s when we lived next door to Grandmas.

The fear of thunderstorms runs deep on my mother’s side of the family.  When the clouds began gathering, Mama would announce, “Lordy, Lordy, yonder comes a cloud,” and grab me by the hand fleeing next door to Grandma’s big house, where supposedly we would be safer in the coming storm.  Maybe it was because Grandma’s house had an upstairs to run to in case the floods came (which never happened on Cajah’s Mountain, where I grew up). Mama said you can’t hear the thunder as much in a two-story house. I wonder if it was because being with Grandma gave her a sense of security. 

Grandma always seemed glad to see us when the storms came. It’s as if she enjoyed the excitement of a thunderstorm with company.  “It won’t hurt you, Denny, if you don’t get in a draft or go outside!” So we sheltered safely in a stuffy room with doors and windows well closed and lights turned off to avoid the lightening “running in.”

“This one’s about to pass over,” I can hear her saying. 

Just as we thought we were safe, Grandma, the unofficial meteorologist of the family, would announce that this one was “a circular storm.”   That meant the cloud was not finished with us yet.  It was, according to Grandma, “circling for a second storm,” as if it were an invading army surrounding the innocents of the village below with repeated attacks. So, it appeared we were destined to stay another while in the hot, stuffy room that smelled of Ben Gay and Grandma’s chihuahau, Judy.

Finally, after what seemed years of incarceration, I became excited by rays of light coming past the edges of the closed shades.  “Look! The sun is out,” I shouted, “We can go home now!”   Grandma rose gingerly from her rocker and opened the shade just enough to peer outside.

With all her meteorological authority she announced, “Lordy, Lordy, yonder comes another cloud.  This is going to be big ‘un!”