Last night's thunderstorm struck right around Bedtime. Snuggling for a bit with the wee girlie, doing my best to convince her that the thunderstorm was harmless, she asked me if I was scared of thunderstorms when I was little.
I told her that where I grew up we didn't really have thunderstorms. The climate along the equator just didn't lend itself to creating thunderstorms. I explained how we didn't have winter and fall either. Basically just one long mild summer. It would be dry for a long time, broken up by a short rainy period then a long rainy season.
In a matter of days, our "roads" would go from this...
To this...
The last trip I took in this faithful Land Rover was during the short rains. I had taken four weeks leave and went home for Christmas. It started raining and the road down the mountain quickly turned into a mudslide. A crowd of family and old friends had gathered at our home for the holidays and we all left together. I was snoozing in the back seat (one of my Superpowers is the ability to sleep anywhere, any how...honed on these very roads) when I was rudely awakened by my mom screaming. The last "puddle" sent muddy water sloshing over the hood and in through the open vents. My initial concern was over the pecan pies she'd been holding in her lap.
My mom still hasn't let that one go. I maintain that she's washable, delicious homemade pecan pies are not.
2 comments:
Mmmm...pecan pie.
I'm with you.
I recall spectacular storms coming up over Lake Victoria when we lived in Mwanza...watching from the house on the hill and at least once making a desparate scramble to get a sailboat out of the water!
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