disaster area

From 1986 until 1992, our family lived in Colorado in a town called Windsor. When I think of “growing up,” I’ll always think of our house on Rose Court, even though I did about half my growing up in Virginia.

The name “Windsor” might ring a bell for you, because last Thursday it was hit by a huge tornado that was estimated to be an EF3 with wind speeds up to 165 mph. My grandmother, aunt, and four cousins still live there, and we were very worried for a while on Thursday because it took us several hours to confirm that they were all safe. They are all okay, though, and their homes were off the storm’s direct path and suffered only small amounts of damage. They say that they don’t think any trees in town are still standing, though, and that there are so many gawkers driving through taking pictures that they can barely get around town. We have not yet confirmed that the house on Rose Court is safe; my aunt said it was destroyed, but she also said the National Guard was shooting people on sight, so…yeah.

There are some stunning photos of town on Flickr – you can find most of them here. Here is an example:

overturned oil tankers

5 Replies to “disaster area”

  1. I’m glad your family’s OK. I’m really hoping the house on Rose Court is OK, too; I sort of know what it’s like to be emotionally attached to a house.

  2. Oh my goodness, I hope the house is OK, but more, my heart goes out to everyone in CO. Your aunt reminds me of the morning of September 11 and, weirdly, makes me laugh. I was working at the DMV, and we had a tiny black and white TV on in the back office, and the radio on in the front; we were hearing every report, accurate and inaccurate. An old lady came racing in (“Ma’am, the world is falling apart – do you really need to renew your driver’s license today?” I mean, come ON), yelling, “A PLANE HAS CRASHED ON THE STEPS OF THE CAPITOL BUILDING!” “Ma’am, I don’t think–” “Oh, it DID. I just heard.” “…Okay.”

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