To briefly describe a long and eventful action-packed day will not be easy.
We were in Big Cedar (Oklahoma) to visit my aunt who lives in the middle of the Ouachita Mountains. Very beautiful. In the middle of the forest, directly on a pleasant river. You can drive to the mailbox better by car. You know that.
On April 9, 2009 we were in Mena (Arkansas) to do some things. The day was cloudy, the air oppressive. Unpleasant somehow. In the evening, on the way from Mena back on the winding roads of the Ouachita Mountains to go to Big Cedar, the clouds become thicker, heavier and more oily. In these giant “cloud-towers” forms the bottom a kind of bag. Dark and greasy. To say “oily” describes it best. I drive the car behind my aunt's car. It is getting dark quickly. Starts to rain. My aunt is driving faster and faster. This is a surprise to me, since at every speed crossing, however, the police came out of the bushes and annoys me on the other hand, because the streets are difficult and I do not know the Way. The rain becomes denser. The rear lights of my aunts car in front of me disappear partly from my field of view, when my aunt is driving around a curve. And then comes the hail. It hammered loud and scary on the car roof. I feel queasy. On a relatively straight piece of the street I look through the passenger window into the clouds. What I see is equally frightening as well as incomprehensible. Not far from us, a funnel is working out of a cloud. It rotates slowly. I have to force myself to look at the road again, not to lose control because we are going very fast. The funnel is working downwards and then touches the ground. From one second to the next he increases rapidly. I do not want to look anymore, concentrate on the road, on the car in front of me. And then the brake lights. My aunt let down her window, she screams against the storm and the hail. I should turn. On the spot. Bloody hell.
On the road lots of overturned trees. We can not get anywhere else. We have to go back. Back to Mena. Damn fast. I hear the squealing of the tires and then she is already from my field of view. So turn around and drive behind her. Back. Back to the tornado I had seen. My co-driver sees the next tornado first. Suddenly he is behind us. On the road. Damn close and get closer faster than we can drive. We are scared. Both. The Tornado sounds like a loud buzz. In front of us, branches are flying across the street, lots of other small things and then a mailbox passes by our front window to fly back shortly afterwards. That we have found ourselves with the very outer circle of the tornado, we learn later. The buzz becomes a hum. Suddenly the Tornado turns off. To the side of us we see the tornado racing toward the forest. After this we arrive at Mena. And nothing is like it was before.
Electricity cables are spread over the streets, still twitching, giving off their cargo. Uprooted trees line the paths, roofs are covered, mobile homes lie on their heads, whole houses are collapsed. Mena no longer exists. At least not in this part, where we are.
We are completely bewildered and do not know what to do. I do not know where the tornado is, that raged here, I do not know where he is, who I saw from the side window, what happened to the Tornado on the road behind us, and how many tornadoes are here or have been here . Under a heavy and still intact bridge my aunt stops. We sit frozen. No one stirs. The fire brigade passes us. Looks, hold, tells us to follow them and takes us to a safe place. The safe place is a church in Mena – built of stone.
There we meet a lot of people. Children in pajamas, men and women, more or less clothed. They are well organized. Know these situations. They are very quiet, work hand in hand. Bring drinks from different rooms, additional chairs and blankets. They give us comfort. I'm trembling, would like to smoke - but I may not because of the defective gas lines everywhere. We stay there almost to the morning. Until the message comes, the road is free now.
There were a total of 7 tornadoes. We learned that later.
