It was the closest I”ve been to a tornado, and it was close enough. Writing now, over a month later, the experience is ancient history, but it”s worth relating even if I”m just getting around to it.\r\n\r\nI was chasing storms in Kansas on Thursday, May 22, with Bill and Tom Oosterbaan and Jason Harris. We had already intercepted our first tornadic storm of the day, watching from a distance as a beautiful multi-vortex tornado square danced with itself across the prairie. We lost that storm to one of the notorious clay roads of west Kansas, which in my opinion are worse than ice when they”re wet. By the time we caught back up with the supercell, it had gone high precipitation. We briefly viewed a large tornado approaching the west side of Oberlin, but abandoned it when wrapping rain obscured visibility and made chasing too dangerous.\r\n\r\nHeading north and then east, we targeted a second storm that was advancing from the south. Dropping down toward it, we found ourselves on a collision course with a large and intense area of radar-indicated rotation. At the very least, this storm had a strong mesocyclone, and we were heading directly for it. Our plan was to make it ahead of the storm to highway 36, a paved and dependable east-west route, but it looked to be a close shave. We were tearing along, but so was the storm, and unlike us, it wasn”t constrained by unpredictable road surfaces.\r\n\r\nWe did beat the storm to the intersection, thankfully, and headed east a little way, then stopped to get a good look. The supercell was morphing into another HP beast, but at this point, we could still make out features. Off in the distance, I spotted a small tube, and pointed it out to the guys. We watched it dance, dwindle, and dissipate–and then we spotted the real action. It was much closer: an enormous tornado, less than a mile distant, partly concealed by rain and advancing directly toward us.\r\n\r\nRetreating to the east a quarter mile or so, out of the danger zone, we watched as the condensation wedge lifted. I could now see underneath the circulation, but I felt certain it was still tornadic. Suddenly a funnel materialized on the right side of the rotating mass, broadening rapidly like a black ghost billowing up out of the prairie, and morphed into a massive cone.\r\n\r\n

(Photo courtesy of Jason Harris)\r\n\r\nI”ve read plenty of descriptions of tornado sounds, both by ordinary people caught in a tornado”s path and by fellow storm chasers. In a thread on Stormtrack several months ago, many chasers–some of whom had experienced very close encounters–agreed that they often had heard no sound at all. From a whisper to a roar and all points between: tornado noise likely depends on a number of things, ranging from location relative to the tornado, to surface features the winds are interacting with, and no doubt to other factors I”m unaware of.\r\n\r\nThis tornado was silent as it advanced. No roar, no freight train noise, no waterfall sound, nothing other than the hiss of inflow winds around us rushing over the prairie grass.\r\n\r\nBut as the funnel crossed the road within a quarter-mile from us, moving at a rapid clip, suddenly the sound came–a massive WHHOOOOOSSSSHHHHHHH!!!!! Then the rear flank downdraft hit, along with drenching rain wrapping into the circulation and cloaking the tornado from view.\r\n\r\nWe headed east through the wind and wet, gabbling excitedly, working off the adrenaline and feeling a certain sense of disbelief. It had been a close encounter. A good number of chasers have been closer to a tornado, but we were close enough to satisfy me. I wouldn”t have wanted to be any closer–at least, not in a high-precipitation supercell where more may be happening with the parent circulation than readily meets the eye.\r\n\r\nAll in all, an amazing experience. Can”t wait to do it again.

Yesterday, as is my wont from time to time, I drove out to one of my favorite small, nearby towns. With the price of gas what it is these days, Portland lies on the outer fringe of my comfort zone. It”s a pleasant place to visit, albeit sparingly. I love to go there, park my car by the linear park, and practice my saxophone by the riverside, letting the sound bounce off the buildings on the far bank.\r\n\r\nOn this occasion, storms had been working their way across Michigan. Most of them had passed on to the east, but one low-topped straggler snuck up behind me, pushing up into the crisp blue sky and spreading a small but beautiful anvil downwind. Photographs were required. No need to write many words when image and color can tell the story much better.\r\n\r\n

\r\n\r\n

Heading north out of Dighton, Kansas, on Friday, May 23, we pulled aside to see what was happening with the wall cloud we had first encountered on the west side of that town. Though rotating rapidly, the cloud had moved very slowly, taking an almost stationary position for quite a while. But evidently the steering winds finally grabbed hold of it, because it suddenly decided to pack up its bags and head north at a pretty good clip. We skedaddled out of Dighton and took off after it.\r\n\r\nWhile it was hard to tell at the time, from the following video it appears that the wall cloud may have put down a tornado that rapidly wedged out. This checks out with another video I”ve seen on YouTube of a wedge near Dighton that same day, which most certainly was the same storm from a different angle.\r\n\r\nAt any rate, while you can see the rapid cloud motion on the outskirts of the mesocyclone and a suspicious, rain-wrapped lowering to the left of the screen, keep your eyes on the center. A sudden, nearby spin-up surprised the bejeebers out of us by blowing the roof off a small building roughly 150 yards away. I got video of it, but so did fellow chaser Mike Kovalchick, and I like his better. Check it out. We were in the white Suburban. That”s Bill in the baseball cap.

A couple years ago, I was in the thick of practicing my horn daily. Then life hit, and hit hard. I lost a close relationship, and in the process of grieving that loss, I lost all interest in the horn for quite a while. Then, while still climbing up out of that valley, my job of fourteen years as the copy manager for a Christian publishing house got lopped in a restructuring. The company played fairly toward me with a gracious severance, but still, it was another significant loss. The older I get, the more the losses accumulate, and in the face of them, sometimes the last thing I feel like doing is playing my horn.\r\n\r\nThe plain truth is, there”s a lot more to life besides playing the saxophone. And yet, I was made to play the sax. It”s a passion, and more than a passion–it”s a gift from God. No matter what gets thrown my way, sooner or later I always seem to come back to the horn. Not that I”ve ever gotten totally away from it. There”s an ebb and flow to practicing for me that corresponds to patterns in life, but I”ve always at least played in church and kept my chops in basic working order. However, reestablishing a diligent practice routine takes effort. Licks and scale patterns that once were second nature may still be there, but they lose their quicksilver fluidity without consistent maintenance. You just don”t hop back on board a Bb diminished whole tone scale the way you do a bicycle.\r\n\r\nStill, the good news is, the chops do come back. I suppose, once you”ve laid their original foundation, you”ve got something you can return to that you didn”t have when you first started. The fingers don”t need so much to be re-taught as reminded of what they already know. The brain rapidly responds to a few ii-V-I”s in all twelve keys, and to dominant patterns around the circle of fifths. It”s fun. The challenge is, life is still life, and these days, it has a lot of demands. Sometimes those demands can be exhausting. Another day can escape me before it seems like it has even started, and I realize–as I do right now–that I haven”t practiced. That”s the tough part: carving out time for my instrument. It”s important that I do so. And I want to do so.\r\n\r\nI guess that”s one of the things that makes me, or anyone, a musician: the desire to keep at it. Sometimes the desire goes underground for a season, and that”s not always a bad thing. There have been times when I have purposely taken a “music fast,” setting aside my horn to remind myself that Jesus, not my saxophone, is the one I serve. Other times, when I”m down, I simply don”t have the heart to practice. But I always come back to the horn.\r\n\r\nLast spring, I attended my friend and fellow storm chaser Kurt Hulst”s wedding down in Louisiana. At the time, I was really feeling grief-stricken over the lost friendship I mentioned earlier. I had hardly touched my horn in quite a while; I just didn”t have the heart for it.\r\n\r\nBut Kurt and Abbie had asked me to play for their first dance, and of course I said I would. When the time came, I took the stage and played an acapella ballad for the newlyweds while the jazz quartet took a breather. After hearing me play, the band leader–a sax man from New Orleans–invited me to sit in with them. I was a bit hesitant, knowing how rusty I was, but I accepted his gracious invitation. And I surprised myself.\r\n\r\nI can”t tell you how good it felt, after having not played jazz for so long a stretch, to play it once again. The music was still there, and releasing it was like coming alive. The band moved from a blues to Rhythm changes, and those were there, too. The band leader and I traded fours in a brief and enjoyable tenor-alto battle…and on it went for the rest of the set, and part of the next. We cooked.\r\n\r\nThat afternoon with the band was a gift, and the frank approval of those Louisiana musicians was much-needed affirmation. Afterwards, I realized how badly I had needed it all.\r\n\r\nThis coming weekend, I”m playing with two different groups at the Grand Rapids Festival of the Arts. Am I preparing myself? You bet. I want to be at my peak when I do one of the things I love best: play my sax. And I will be. I”m working those patterns, those altered scales and arpeggios so they”ll fly off the buttons when I need them.\r\n\r\nSoooo…Friday I hope to chase storms, then Saturday and Sunday I play at the Festival. I can”t imagine a better way to spend the first weekend in June. And if you”ve got the jazz in you, you know what I”m talkin” about.

Normally, I find it no problem to wrap my arms around a blog posting, particularly when it comes to the topic of tornadoes and storm chasing. But last week…well, where do I begin, and where do I stop? Thursday and Friday in Kansas were simply incredible. Staying at a hotel in Hays, the four of us–Bill and Tom Oosterbaan, Jayson Harris, and I–had a perfect base of operation. From there, it was simply a matter of driving a mere handful of miles west and then shuttling south and north, back and forth, watching large tornadoes form a conga line along the dryline.\r\n\r\nHow many tornadoes did I see? I lost count. Plenty–more than enough to make up for all the lean times marked by long miles and many a busted chase. Highlights include a photogenic, rapidly rotating wall cloud on the outskirts of Dighton, and a large, strong tornado that crossed the road within a quarter-mile from where we were parked east of Oberlin. Unfortunately, I wasn”t able to capture the latter on camera; what I wound up with were several shots of a rain-streaked windshield with a black curtain in the background. But the wall cloud came out beautifully.\r\n\r\n

\r\n\r\nHere”s another wall cloud with a clear slot from the day before, south of Oberlin. This one put down a multi-vortex tornado shortly after.\r\n\r\n

\r\n\r\nI didn”t think anything could beat those two days, and indeed, Saturday in Nebraska seemed to confirm that life was about to head back to the usual chase busts. We did see some nice wall clouds, and when the TIV (Tornado Intercept Vehicle) pulled into the gas station where we were parked, that created a photo op of a different kind.\r\n\r\n

\r\n\r\nBut no tornadoes. Overall, I figured the show was over. And I was satisfied. I could have headed back to Michigan at that point and been more than happy with the two best chase days I”d ever had.\r\n\r\nThen came Sunday in Iowa.\r\n\r\nWe were parked near Hope, Minnesota, hanging out with chasers Kurt Hulst and Dave Diehl, waiting for storm initiation and wondering what, if anything, was going to come of the Storm Prediction Center”s moderate risk. Then the first of the updates came–a PDS (Particularly Dangerous Situation) statement for our area.\r\n\r\nAt that point, though, we were discussing dropping down into the higher CAPE in Iowa. So when the SPC issued another PDS, this one for Iowa, that cinched it. Off we went, headed south. The Minnesota storms had begun to fire, and now the first convection in Iowa was showing up on GR3. Other cells popped up below it. As we drove, the southernmost cluster began to consolidate, forming a massive supercell as the northern cell waned. This was our baby–but could we get to it before losing it to the Mississippi River?\r\n\r\nStairstepping down to the southeast for an intercept, we could see a strong velocity couplet on the radar, which continued to steadily increase in size. Base reflectivity showed a beautiful hook. This thing was becoming a monster!\r\n\r\nWe were directly east of the storm, a good ten or fifteen miles from the circulation, when something went whap! on the windshield of Bill”s Suburban. Ah, crap! I thought. Hail. Not unexpected, but never welcome. Then I noticed the brown smudge on the glass. That wasn”t hail, it was debris. Now it was all around us, falling from the sky–scraps of plant material, cloth, cardboard, mostly light stuff…but suddenly, here was a piece of corrugated sheet metal clanging to the pavement and getting dragged along by the wind. Damn. This couldn”t be good. From the looks of it, we were getting pelted with bits and pieces of a community somewhere off to our west–debris lofted into the mid- or upper-level jet and carried downwind miles ahead of the advancing tornado. \r\n\r\nWe had no idea at the time that the storm had all but obliterated the town of Parkersburg, inflicting EF-5 damage and killing five people. But we knew we had something serious on our hands.\r\n\r\nWe intercepted the storm just outside of Fairbank, where a new wall cloud was organizing as the Parkersburg tornado occluded to the north. We tracked east with the new circulation, staying maybe a half-mile to its south as it took a right turn and produced a massive, roiling, dusty wedge that gave the southern edge of Hazleton a glancing blow. This beast looked every bit of a mile wide.\r\n\r\nI”ll let the video of this tornado speak for itself–not the best resolution, but it gives you the idea. Please indulge my overuse of the words monster and WOOOWWWW!!!!! I freely admit I”m a rank amateur when it comes to videography, and this was truly an impressive spectacle.\r\n\r\nAlso, a somewhat bewildering one. I”m reminded of the Tri-State Tornado of 1925. Most people never recognized it as a tornado; reports described it as a fog rolling along the ground, with tree limbs in the air. We thought of that as we viewed this turbulent, low-visibility behemoth. At times, it looked like the entire wall cloud was on the ground; at others, we could make out a boiling mass of dust, with what appeared to be multiple vortexes. Truly an unforgettable sight.

Last Sunday my eighty-two-year-old mother and I took a two-mile hike out in Aman Park. The Virginia bluebells were in their full glory along the trout stream, the rest of the spring wildflowers were at their prime, and a trail my mom hadn”t walked before beckoned. Mom is a trooper, and I am blessed that, now that she is in her silver years, she still has mobility, pluck, and a wonderful sense of curiosity and wonder. She is the most amazing person–all the more so because beneath the qualities I”ve just mentioned lies a lifetime of intense, sacrificial love that has forged a wealth of character. I am greatly blessed to have her for my mother. She is so beautiful.\r\n\r\nToday, on a day when we celebrate mothers across the land, I want to share my thoughts as a middle-aged single man. I”m a fairly sentimental guy, and emotions are no stranger to me, but I find myself surprised by the feelings surfacing in me today.\r\n\r\nI”m aware that this day is a mixed bag for those of you who are mothers. For many of you, it”s marked by warmth, by the love and appreciation of your family. That is wonderful. If you are a mother worthy of the word, then you richly deserve to be honored and blessed by those who love you.\r\n\r\nBut for others of you, family warmth and celebration are not the full story, or even close to it. Some of you have husbands in word only–derelict dads who put on a good face in public but who abuse you in private. Others of you are single moms striving hard to make a life for those precious children you love so much. Some have a special-concern child–a son in prison, a daughter in Iraq. Others are fighting a long, hard fight for the life of your critically ill baby. And still others are feeling the terrible sorrow of a child you lost one year ago, five years ago, twenty years ago…it doesn”t matter how long. The heartache may lose its fresh, jagged edge over time, but it will always be a part of you.\r\n\r\nIn one way or another, I have known you all. I have watched you deal with your circumstances and stood amazed at the kind of love you”re capable of. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You are the most breathtaking creatures that ever walked the earth.\r\n\r\nI know you don”t see yourselves that way, at least not as individuals. Tomorrow will be just another day of hanging out the wash for you. But believe me, you are royalty–royalty in K-Mart clothes, with a sinkful of greasy dishes and a pile of laundry to contend with, but royalty nonetheless. Trust me, you are beautiful–because love is beautiful, and moms–good moms–understand the meaning of that word like no one else.\r\n\r\nSome of you have faced mothering hurdles that stem from your own mother”s inability to love you the way you deserved. I wish it could have been better for you. Today is a hard day for you in that regard. Yet you”re doing the best you know how to deal honestly and responsibly with your past and its impact on you, and to be the best mom to your kids that you know how. You are courageous. I admire you deeply.\r\n\r\nI admire all of you. You are worthy of great admiration. Those of you who have embraced the high calling of motherhood–who have allowed love for your children to shape your choices and your character in ways unique to your personalities and circumstances–are truly remarkable individuals.\r\n\r\nThere are reasons why today is not any easy one for me; it is a poignant reminder of losses in my life. For those of you who face sorrows of your own this Mother”s Day, may our Lord comfort you. My words here cannot fix what has been broken. I can only assure you that you are not alone, that your tears are not unseen, and that you matter greatly. May our Lord come alongside you today and gently console you, and in due season, grant you a serenity and healing that can come from heaven alone.\r\n\r\nTo each one of you who, at the core of your heart, is a mother indeed…\r\nwhether your life is relatively easy or a struggle…\r\nwhatever your gains, whatever your losses, whatever your circumstances…\r\nI bow to you in deepest respect.\r\nYou are beautiful. You are special. You are amazing.\r\n\r\nYou are the salt of the earth.\r\n\r\nMay God richly bless you.\r\n\r\nYour friend,\r\nStorm

There”s nothing like computer problems to interrupt the flow of a blog. Ongoing issues with my laptop since early March have seriously crimped my postings, my storm chasing, and the book I”ve been writing, not to mention my home business as a freelance writer.\r\n\r\nI finally knuckled under last week and did something I should have done long ago, and purchased a home PC. Now I”m back in the saddle, and there”s so much to write about, I”m not sure where to begin. A lot of water has passed over the spillway, and I”m probably just as well off letting most of what it has carried with it drift downstream. But I do want to tip my hat to the 2008 Hastings Jazz Festival.\r\n\r\nThe Festival, still in its infancy at five years old, is the vision of now-retired Hastings High School band director, trumpet player, and band leader Joe LaJoye. Held in early spring, it brings together high school jazz bands from around the area, as well as seasoned local musicians, for a weekend of music played at venues scattered throughout the downtown area. Since Hastings has an attractive, modestly sized urban center with its businesses and restaurants all within easy walking distance, all performances are no more than a block or two from each other. The setup works beautifully, and Joe and the Thornapple Arts Council deserve laurels for having both the foresight and the commitment to bring live jazz to a small town setting.\r\n\r\nI performed twice on Friday, April 18, in two very different musical settings. At the County Seat Restaurant, I played two hours of jazz standards with drummer and band leader Tom Alderson, bassist Don Cheeseman, and pianist Forrest Evans. It was one of those picture-perfect settings: outside on a gorgeous evening, in a pleasant patio environment, with a good-sized and appreciative audience.\r\n\r\n

\r\n\r\nThe gig was spiced up by a couple guest musicians. My friend Audrey Valentine, a high school saxophonist who is quite serious about jazz, stopped by to listen. Naturally, I invited her to join me for a couple numbers, and she stepped right in and did a fine job on “Don”t Get Around Much Anymore” and “Mack the Knife.” Then Joe LaJoye popped in, and of course I couldn”t let him leave without joining me on his trumpet for a few rounds of “Watermelon Man.” What a blast!\r\n\r\nOnce that gig was over, it was a quick rush down the street for Don and me to the Waldorf, where we were scheduled to play with guitarist Ed Englerth from nine until midnight. Ed is a superb songwriter and lyricist, and the gig consisted mainly of his own material. It”s hard to describe Ed”s style, simply because it”s so eclectic. Ed”s instrumental material tends to be highly improvisational, with a lot of room to stretch. \r\n\r\nThe quartet was hot that night! It had been a while since we had performed together, and the space allowed me to take a fresh approach to the music. Drummer Tony LaJoye sat in for our regular drummer, Alan Dunst, and his contribution also brought a different angle to the music. Great job, Tony!\r\n\r\nJazz developed in urban settings and has been sustained in big cities such as New York, Chicago, New Orleans, and Kansas City, but it belongs to all of America. I find it particularly gratifying to see a smaller town with a rural flavor take the music to heart, seek to perpetuate it, and turn out in large numbers to enjoy a weekend of jazz in its many forms.

Equipped with a new home PC, I”ve at last found myself with the processing power to handle a radar software item I”ve been drooling over ever since I heard of it and saw what it can do. Last Sunday I finally purchased Gibson Ridge”s powerful GR2AE (the AE stands for “Analyst Edition”). Given my tight budget these days, it wasn”t an economical move; it was, however, an inevitable one–and, as it turned out, a timely one.\r\n\r\nThe next day, April 28, I began tinkering with the program. It”s quite amazing, featuring as its crown jewel a volume explorer that crunches together all the scans of a storm and displays them as a three-dimensional image. The result is like an X-ray of a thunderstorm that you can view from nearly every angle, flipping it around at whim with your mouse.\r\n\r\nOf course, you need a storm to work with, so I went off in search of one. Gibson Ridge radar products make that process a snap with a window that shows current warnings. I clicked it on, not expecting much, hoping for just a garden-variety thunderstorm to help me acquaint myself with the new software. Instead…whoa! Four tornado warnings, three for Virginia and one for North Carolina. I knew the Storm Prediction Center had issued a slight risk for that area, but I never expected anything to actually come of it. Not that tornadoes don”t occur on the East Coast, but they”re infrequent. The region isn”t exactly Tornado Alley.\r\n\r\nThis day was an exception. There they were: four discrete supercells lighting up the radar screen, raking paths across the East ahead of a squall line. The northernmost storm–the largest of the lot, and seemingly the most robust–had a broad area of rotation. After a number of scans, the radar suddenly produced an intense couplet, indicating a swift intensification of that rotation.\r\n\r\nSelecting the area of interest, I activated the volume explorer. I now was getting a look at the storm”s intestines, so to speak–at precipitation intensities and basic wind-flow patterns that I could examine from a multitude of vantage points.\r\n\r\nBear in mind, now, that I”m brand-new to GR2AE, and my skill with it is rudimentary. Nevertheless, as I followed the storm”s progress, I could tell that the rotation was tightening and appeared to be lowering as the storm made a beeline for Suffolk, Virgina. I wasn”t sure what was happening out there at ground level, but I sensed that a tornado was either immanent or already in progress. So, deciding to try another first, I saved an image.\r\n\r\nHere it is:\r\n\r\n

\r\n\r\nNote the reddish tube on the right side of the image that looks something like an upside-down funnel, with a somewhat brighter shade of green just to its left,\r\nlike an aura. This is the mesocyclone. I won”t go so far as to say you can see the actual tornado, as radar normally isn”t able to depict tornadoes, but I can”t rule out the possibility. The funnel moved through an urban area and conceivably lofted enough debris to be detected by radar. Regardless, the image gives you a fair idea of the storm”s structure at the time it was going tornadic. Not a bad catch for a newbie!\r\n\r\nI welcome comments, particularly from chasers and meteorologists more knowledgeable than I.

What an enjoyable gig Saturday night with Francesca Amari in Lowell, Michigan! Francesca is a wonderful vocalist with a sparkling personality, and she obtained superb rhythm section support from bassist Dave DeVos and keyboard player Wright McCarger. Drums? Nope, no drums. It”s interesting to see what you can do without them, and how their absence affects both one”s personal playing and the overall sound of the group. We seemed to do just fine, and the people certainly enjoyed us.\r\n\r\nThe event was a black-tie grand opening of a ballroom just north of town on Lincoln Lake Road. It was a well-attended soire, and between dinner and dancing, our quartet managed to cover a fair amount of ground stylistically.\r\n\r\nMy favorite playing format is the small combo. I love the freedom, the room to stretch. And I particularly enjoy backing up vocalists of Francesca”s caliber. While I love doing instrumentals, I don”t like a steady diet featuring me as the lead. I”d rather not be the only person carrying the melody; I like being a sideman, and I get as much a kick out of noodling around in the background–whether behind a singer or another instrument–as I do in standing out front. For that matter, I”m also quite content to sit out on a number for the sake of variety. Not every tune has to have a sax in it, or a sax solo. Taking a breather and letting the rest of the band carry a tune without me creates interest. It”s the principle of judicious subtraction, in which less becomes more.\r\n\r\nAnyway…what a blast! I could play that kind of a gig every weekend. Good musicians, good crowd, lovely location, great food…who could ask for more? Unless, that is, it”s more occasions like that one. Bring ”em on–I”ll take ”em!