Forests, farms and storms in the Midwest

Just last week, we wrote that we wanted to stand out in the wind and

rain to cover hurricanes like TV reporters.

We’ve changed our minds. Print media will do just fine for us,

thank you.

As circumstances would have it, we caught the tail end of

Hurricane Rita as it swept over the Midwest.

While Rita was churning toward the Gulf Coast last Thursday, Vic

and I flew to Indiana for the burial of my mother’s ashes. We were

supposed to change planes in Chicago to go to Indianapolis.

Of course, the weather here was wonderful, but Chicago was

experiencing severe thunderstorms, and most of the runways were shut

down. To complicate matters, millions of Texans were evacuating the

Gulf Coast. Airlines were getting their planes out of Houston prior

to closing the airport, which threw schedules off all over the

country.

To catch our plane, Vic had to dash to John Wayne Airport. We

cleared security and made it onto the plane with a scant five minutes

to spare before takeoff. The plane taxied down the tarmac, but then

it stopped. Chicago was so affected by weather that we were not

permitted to take off.

We sat on the runway for two hours. Finally, we received clearance

for takeoff, but by then the plane had developed mechanical problems.

Hey, better on the ground than in the air.

The problem couldn’t be repaired quickly, so the airline had to

call for a different plane. That added another hour to the delay.

The replacement plane arrived, but the weather in Chicago had

deteriorated again, and we were denied takeoff.

As the hours dragged on, it was pretty obvious we weren’t going to

be able to fly from Chicago to Indianapolis that day. I called to

change our car rental pickup from Indianapolis to Chicago, planning

to drive.

Good thing I did. By the time we got to Chicago, it was well after

midnight. All unreserved rental cars were taken, and all flights to

Indianapolis the next morning were booked.

We arrived at our motel at 5:30 a.m. By the time we got checked

into our room and got replacement toiletries -- our luggage was still

in Chicago -- the breakfast buffet was open. We just stayed up.

The funeral service went well. We held it indoors rather than

graveside because the first clouds of Rita were dumping torrential

downpours periodically.

Rain in the Midwest can be a frightening experience. The sky turns

black, and rain pounds down with a furious intensity that sounds like

hail. Sometimes it is hail.

If you’re driving, you can’t see more than a few feet beyond the

hood of the car. And that’s with the wipers going full blast. Even

those hurricane-covering TV reporters wouldn’t stand outdoors in an

Indiana downpour.

It was good to see so many of my cousins again. We played together

as children, but now we’re the heads of our own little dynasties.

Three generations of many families were present -- my cousins and

brother, their children and grandchildren.

My mom was the last of her siblings to go. Her generation has now

passed, but their great-grandchildren reminded us of the legacy they

left.

The best part about being back in Indiana, besides the gathering

of the family, was seeing the landscape. Indiana has actively

reforested areas that were cleared almost 200 years ago by early

pioneers, some of whom were my ancestors. Indiana had lost 90% of its

forests by the early 1900s.

Thanks to a variety of factors, forests are more abundant there

now than when I was a child. However, because of farming and

development, they cover only about 20% of their former range and are

highly fragmented. The old-growth virgin forests with 4-feet diameter

tree trunks are gone.

Some older forests in southern Indiana are so dense that sunlight

barely dapples down to the forest duff. The variety of trees is

astounding -- more than a hundred species.

Huge maples, oaks, sycamores and cottonwoods tower over an

understory of sassafras, dogwood, crabapple and serviceberry. Pines,

cedars, hemlock and other evergreens contrast with the changing fall

colors of hardwoods such as ashes, elms, hickories, birches, beeches,

catalpas and buckeyes.

When we visited, the butterflies foraging over autumn blooms of

goldenrod, asters and sunflowers were soon chased away by a light

mist that dampened tulip trees, papaws, persimmons and pecans.

On Sunday, Rita continued to throw one rainsquall after another at

us as we joined an Audubon group birding along Eagle Creek north of

Indianapolis. They grow creeks big there: Eagle Creek is as wide as a

lake.

Farms have replaced most of the forests, marshes and tallgrass

prairies of northern Indiana. On our drive back to Chicago, we

meandered past fields of soybeans washed bright yellow by autumn.

Cornfields had turned a honeyed tan. After a stop at the Indiana

Dunes to see storm clouds roll over Lake Michigan, we headed for the

airport.

The flight home was dramatic. Lightning bolted between huge

thunderheads and shot to the ground as we flew over the lingering

edge of Rita. The pilot did a great job of avoiding most of the

bumps, and we got quite a show of nature’s light and power.

No more hurricane coverage for us, thanks.

* VIC LEIPZIG and LOU MURRAY are Huntington Beach residents and

environmentalists. They can be reached at [email protected].

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