We had a thunderstorm this July! And then we had another small one just this week. Two in one year – the apocalypse is surely on its way.
See, I live on the west coast of Canada, where the weather almost never threatens to kill you or does anything terribly interesting at all, really. The thunderstorms we’ve had this summer are the only real ones I’ve experienced in close to a decade of living here. Out here on Vancouver Island we mostly just get a lot of wind. It’s significant wind, sure – in our top floor apartment it sounds like a several families of dragons ate way too many tacos and are expelling gas from both ends. But it’s not the same as a good thunderstorm.
I spent most of my youth in the American Midwest, where I cowered fearfully as a child through the huge thunderstorms we experienced every spring, then learned to love them just in time to move away to a place entirely lacking in celestial conflict. My parents still live in the Midwest, though, and last summer a big storm ripped off half the huge old maple tree in their backyard and dropped it on their neighbour’s garage. Exciting stuff, right?
