The frustration of Texas storms

 

So frustrating to get all geared up for storms…and nothing happens. Last night, forecasts were full of dire warnings about severe weather between midnight and four a.m. I went to bed much earlier than midnight—I seem to have changed my sleep patterns these days—but got Sophie all comfortable with a Benadryl so she’d sleep and not be scared during the storm.

I won’t exactly say I lay in bed awake, waiting, but I did find myself awake about one in the morning, wondering about the storm. We got rain but nothing more … and Sophie slept soundly on in her favorite chair. Not that I wanted a destructive storm, but I would have welcomed a little heavy weather. It didn’t happen.

In ordinary years, we would be in the midst of Stock Show weather. The annual stock show, formally known as the Southwestern Exposition and Stock Show, almost always brings snow, sleet, freezing rain, slick streets, and cold, cold temperatures. So this year, with no stock show, maybe we’re being spared the bad weather.

But Fort Worth misses out in a lot of other ways. The Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo, the oldest continuously running livestock show and rodeo in the country, has been held annually in Fort Worth since 1896. In those days, they tied the cattle on a river bank for judging—short squatty cattle, not at all like the sleek animals we see in the show ring today. Over the years the show has provided millions of dollars in grants and scholarships and continues to provide hundreds of thousands of dollars annually to encourage and educate future leaders of agriculture and livestock management.

This year’s show would have brought over a million visitors to Fort Worth—competitors, exhibitors, tourists, vendors, and so on. But it would have been a super-spreader event, and directors reluctantly made the decision to cancel.

So what are we missing besides bad weather? Horse, cattle, and hog shows and auctions, rodeo events and entertainment, judging of everything from pigeons to rabbits, the FFA barnyard with its baby animals, and all that food—turkey wings and funnel cakes and corny dogs. The exhibition hall with its displays of everything from farm equipment to fashion remains closed and empty. The barns are silent, echoing, as are the FFA dorms above them.

So yes, the failure of the storms to materialize is frustrating. It symbolizes a bigger absence—we have no stock show this year.

Here’s to a bigger than ever event in 2022.

Anticipation

Tonight is a night of waiting, anticipation. There are apparently huge storms to the west of us and news reports vary widely--we might get a few drops of rain; on the other hand, we might get one of Texas' spring storms, which can be strong and scary. Jacob is to be here tonight, and he's terrified of storms. So I have my comforting talk all ready.
But that's my other anticipation. He went to a birthday party in my neighborhood at four--for one of his best friends, Collin. Collin's mom said she'd call me about 6:30 so I could pick him up. It's almost 8:30 and he's not home yet. I called about seven and left a message; called again at seven-fifteen and said I was headed that way--she mentioned something about bring him home, and I didn't want to grab him away. So I ate supper on the front porch, had a glass of wine, and sat out there a long time reading. There is an occasional breeze that might hint of a storm to come but no serious green sky or anything.
We sit on the deck so much I forget how lovely the front porch is--trees lush and green all around, traffic slow at this time of the night. A neighbor out playing with his toddler son, who used to wave at me but now has become shy. I half read half looked at the trees and enjoyed the breeze.
Jacob  is now home, full of himself, telling me how things are going to be done. Comforting talk be darned. I had to remind him, rather firmly, that I am the boss and he is taking a shower at nine o'clock. He smells of a swimming pool, but he had a wonderful evening. Lots more fun than staying home with his grandmother.