The Bluebird Project-Chapter One
Chapter One of a three week, three-chapter, teaser
CHAPTER 1
“Air, I should explain, becomes wind when it is agitated.” ― Lucretius, On the Nature of Things
The smallest bend of air over the African continent can, over time, become a storm so mighty it has the power to destroy everything in its path. On the day Sanna Bidwell, his wife Ara, and daughter Jada, age twelve, left Houston Texas for a fourteen-day camping trip at Lake Livingston State Park, a small disturbance, Invest 35, which had days earlier passed into the Atlantic, became named tropical storm Timothy. Timothy showed little promise of danger as it meandered across the Atlantic. Every computer model confirmed with spaghetti strands it would push west past Bermuda, turn abruptly northeast, then head deep into the waters of the North Atlantic, where it would die a slow spiraling death from the cold. Weather, like life though, can sometimes take some very strange turns and Timothy, for no definable reason, changed its path and barreled straight toward unsuspecting lives.
As Timothy passed north of Bermuda, it did not turn north but instead quickened its pace then made a beeline straight for the ultra-warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Here it drank in huge amounts of moisture and, once becoming well saturated, caromed northeast off an upper-level disturbance, hovering just north of the Yucatan Peninsula. This put Houston Texas, and the Bidwell family, directly in its crosshairs.
As tropical storm Timothy entered Houston, it ran headlong into a cold front spilling out of the prairies of Canada. This cold, dense, air blocked Timothy's path for two full days as it hovered over Houston and dropped seven inches of rain on ground already sodden from several previous storms. Unable to contain yet another deluge, entire Houston neighborhoods nearly disappeared beneath feet of water. The Bidwells, camping far north of Houston and out of cell phone range, were unaware this storm was causing such extensive damage right near their home.
Timothy was forecast to leave Houston then twist east towards Louisiana but, as that cold front out of Canada mixed with warmer air and weakened, it caused Timothy to instead move straight north toward Lake Livingston where Sanna, Ara and Jada Bidwell, now twelve days into their fourteen-day camp vacation, lay sleeping.
The first raindrop from Timothy fell on the Bidwell's screened cabin at about four AM on that twelfth day. That single drop had been presaged by several strong downdrafts that rattled the metal roof of the cabin but the following gentle patter of rain on the tin roof contradicted the violent downdrafts and felt calming.
As dawn turned to morning, the rain intensified. Sensing the hostility of Timothy raging outside, no one was in any hurry to crawl from their sleeping bag cocoon and start the day. By nine AM the rain increased yet again, sounding as if the gods were angry as dumped seeming entire pails onto the roof from the heavens. Jada sat up to ask, "Are we still going canoeing today? It sounds creepy out there."
Sanna gave a quick laugh from his sleeping bag nest. "Jada, don't worry. Texas storms like this pass over then it's sunny again. If we wait an hour, or two, it will all be gone. You'll see."
The storm did not “pass over” as Sanna predicted. Every fifteen minutes, one of them would rise, peer through the loft vent, then hustle quickly back to the security of their sleeping bag nest to give a full report. The answer was always the same; it was not improving, and it looked like it was getting worse.
At eleven AM, Ara climbed down from the loft to prepare a late breakfast and took a long look outside at the brooding, dark sky. Large waves were now forming on the once placid lake. Piles of white froth were dissolving on the shore, and the rain now fell in menacing sheets.
Ara yelled up to Sanna and Jada who had begun reading to pass the time. “Maybe, we should just forget about going out today, like Jada said. Come here and look at the lake. It looks like the ocean out there.”
Jada spoke from behind her book. “I don’t want to go out there. I’m good with just reading all day.”
Sanna dropped his book onto his chest. “Why don’t we read until lunch, then we can play “Cataan” if it doesn't stop raining. She won me last time. That’s the first time. I need to show her I can still win. We can paddle tomorrow.”
Ara said nothing back as she set the cereal out on the table. She pulled milks from the cooler and set them nearby. Jada and Sanna still did not budge from their cocoons as she took one last long look at the tumultuous lake, then dropped into a bench at the indoor picnic table, picked up her own book, and began to read.
By lunchtime the rain was thundering so loudly against the metal roof it was difficult to communicate. Outside the dirt was turning to a thick dark mud as deep rivulets formed and were funneling the deluge down to the lake. There was a sudden crash, as if two garbage cans had been crushed together. Everyone jumped up, scurried to the screen window and looked outside just in time to see the dock break free from its moorings. It was on fire and drifting out into the lake.
"We are, of course, a nation of differences. Those differences don't make us weak. They’re the source of our strength."
– Jimmy Carter