We arrived at our campsite well after dark. The rodeo had been a much-anticipated highlight of our cross-country trip, and no one was in a hurry to stop talking about it — or to crawl into our sleeping bags.
It’s a good thing, too, because standing where our tent should have been was a small gathering of fellow campers. One was setting up our lawn chairs and three others were headed in our direction, dragging a pile of fabric that looked like . . . our tent.
The six of us piled out of the mini-van into the glow of our headlights. My eight-year-old took my hand.
Kind neighbors informed us that while we were gone a tornado had swept through the campground throwing tents and camping equipment in every direction. Our tent had been completely uprooted, leaving behind all its stabilizing ropes and anchoring pegs, and landing in a…
View original post 720 more words