Tornadoes, Death, and Survival: Miracle Babies Live Through Tornadoes

Arkansas isn't technically considered part of the region referred to as "tornado alley," but we certainly get more than our fair share of these powerful, capricious storms. Two days ago one twister stayed on the ground in Arkansas for an astounding 120 miles through 6 counties and carved a mindblowing path of death and destruction. The town of Atkins, Arkansas, about 45 miles northwest of me, practically doesn't exist any longer.

I have a good friend in Iraq. He hadn't caught me online since the storms and actually managed to call me today - yes, he called me from Baghdad - to make sure I was okay, even though he knows I'm in Little Rock, an hour's drive south of the storm's path.

Friends from all over the globe have emailed, IMed, and called to make sure my family and I are safe. We're fine. I lost a few shingles in the storms that rocked our world Tuesday. They match the few I lost several days earlier when strong straight-line winds came through.

I take tornadoes seriously. I've seen firsthand what they can do. Little Rock was hit hard twice in the late 1990's by tornadoes, one of which leveled communities in the southwest suburbs of Little Rock, and another of which smashed a horrific swath through the Quapaw Quarter, little Rock's oldest historic neighborhood. There were a lot of poor people living in these areas, people without luxuries like renter's insurance. They lost everything, and there was no money for recovery. Years later they were still trying to put their lives back together. There are still homes that have not been completely repaired even a decade later.

I've seen twisters dip from the sky and my stomach has dipped and twisted along with them. Once, when I was a teenager, I was riding a horse in the country and saw a storm front to the north of me. The clouds looked ominous, so I headed for home. It wasn't raining where I was, but I could see that the rain was pretty powerful not far away.

To my horror a funnel cloud dipped down from that cloud, called a beaver's tail. I didn't just gallop home. My horse ran.