I picked up my daughter after her tennis class on a spring Wednesday just as the first rain drops fell. Little did I know that those drops signaled the start of a life test I nearly failed.
With the rain coming down, I decided to take a shortcut through some winding, heavily wooded roads that would cut our drive home by five minutes. As soon as we made the turn onto Kitchawan Road, the light rain turned into something else entirely. It got midnight dark at midafternoon. The wind turned violent. The raindrops pummeled the truck's already cracked windshield and my daughter cowered at the lightning strikes that were followed immediately by thunder.
We were in the middle of a classic northeast thunderstorm, the kind that forces you to stop and park your car on an 8-lane highway because visibility is zero. Unluckily for us, we were on a narrow two-lane country road with 50 foot tall trees on both sides and power lines crisscrossing the road every quarter mile. There was no safe harbor to wait out this storm. So, I slowed the car down to five miles per hour and held my breath from one bend in the road to the next. I’m not a praying man, but this sure felt like a foxhole.
We went up a steep hill and found a wall of green in front of us. For a second I thought I'd turned into a dead end. Then I realized it was a tree that had fallen across one embankment to the other. Every inch of road blocked. I paused for a minute to assess the situation and calm myself and my daughter. The storm was still fuming, and the wind was whipping the trees into a frenzy of spewed leaves and branches. No telling where the next tree would fall, maybe on us.
I turned the truck around to go back to the main road and take the longer way home. The five-minute shortcut would have to wait for another day.
A half mile into the backtrack I saw a bright blue light. At first, I mistook it for lightning, but it was too low to the ground, too blue and lasted two seconds too long to be lightning. I couldn't imagine what it could be. Eight seconds passed and the light came again. This time I saw what made it. It was a blown transformer attached to power lines crossing the road under another downed tree.
Now I had to decide. Wait there and hope no more trees would fall, or drive past the power lines with the hope of getting to a clear road on the other side. Both were risky. With the storm still going strong, I decided action was less risky. So I braved driving us under the power lines as quick as we could. We made it through.
We drove another 100 yards to the next downed tree. This one blocking the road and also pinning down power lines. No way through.
Now I'm fighting down panic while projecting calm for my daughter who's telling me, "daddy, I'm scared." Tears in my eyes as I fear the worst. Back under the power lines we go.
We'll wait for the first tree to get cleared. At least that first one missed the power lines on its speedy descent.
Twenty minutes later first responders arrive with their chainsaw and clear a path through the green wall. Ten minutes after that we were home.
Safe at home, my daughter said something that hit me harder than any tree ever could.
"Daddy, I was so scared. I didn't feel like I was brave."
I responded to her that bravery isn't about not being scared. Bravery is about being scared and still doing what needs doing.
I don't know if she'll remember that. I hope she does.
I know I will.
Disclosure: I write these posts. AI helps me edit them.