“Always expect a train.”

That’s what my father advised when we came to a railroad track. He wanted to make sure that I looked both ways before crossing the tracks.

I expect a train, but I don’t expect a tornado.

I’ve experienced tornadoes, but I still don’t expect one.

When I was a teenager, a friend and I were driving around with two young ladies. We knew that tornadoes were about, but we wanted to show our dates that we were brave — stupid but brave. The young women, lapping us in the intelligence race, begged to be taken home.

“Are you listening to us or are your ears painted on?” asked one of the lovely lasses.

We laughed until we saw the tornado hit a farm building. The power of the storm was terrifying. We showed the young ladies how frightened we had become by heading the car for shelter at breakneck speeds.

I can still see that building going away in an instant.

We don’t expect tornadoes but they happen.

We are fortunate to have so many dedicated people and organizations that do expect a tornado. They quickly formulate plans and come to the aid of those affected by storms.

The tornadoes parted like the Red Sea at the direction of Moses and skirted our residence. Friends were not so lucky. A life was taken, houses were destroyed, and lives were changed.

At our place, a couple of trees went down, the rain gauge overflowed, and the water was halfway up the post. We had hail the size of, well, hailstones. The four inches of rain led to water in the basement but nothing worth complaining about.

A rural church set up a table where photographs and other items stolen by the winds and found by people could be placed for those looking for missing keepsakes.

I saw things. Things like a board rammed through a tire and a butterfly embedded in an oak branch. I recalled an earlier tornado that had driven an oat straw through a small sapling.

I heard the stories. A local man was airlifted to Rochester by a Mayo Clinic helicopter because he had tried to save his dog. A large automobile went missing. It was taken by the tornado as a trade-in for the demolition of a farm place. A man in his basement knew that it was going to be bad when the water was sucked from the toilet. A letter from a now-deceased mother to her son was found 60 miles from his home.

Countless volunteers walked fields, picked up debris, and saved farmers expensive repair bills on combines at harvest time.

I carried what I could, lifted what I was able, and made sandwiches for the Salvation Army and the Red Cross. I was barely trainable as a sandwich maker but did learn that the ham and the cheese go on the inside and the bread on the outside. Cooking is difficult.

A Federal Emergency Management Agency official told me that we were too prompt in cleaning up. I suppose that makes it difficult for them to assess the damage. We are not those who find sitting on our hands comfortable. People help others.

About a week later, we received damaging winds and a couple of inches of rainfall. Trees went down, basements became wetter, power poles fell, and hail shredded crops. There was a Porta-Potty shortage.

The second storm followed so close on the heels of the previous one that it changed us. A friend, Paul Lynne, told me that he went to the basement during a storm for the first time in 60 years.

The following night brought more tornado warnings and loud, rumbling thunderstorms.

All we were missing was snow.

It does no good to criticize the weather. It’s not listening.

We are folks who don’t need a lot. At most, we demand “about average.”

We got far above that. Volunteer firefighters put in incredible hours — helping with debris clean up, spotting storms, and knocking on doors to make sure that people were OK. They make me proud to be on the same planet with them. Law enforcement personnel, those who man the ambulances, utility company workers, various government entities, city fire departments, and citizen volunteers made us proud. Young people from who knows where came to remove debris. Anyone who complains about the kids today should have seen these young folks work.

Einstein said, “Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.”

Some say that a tornado sounds like a train.

We owe gratitude to those who expected a tornado.

I see your footsteps in the sand. Thanks for carrying us.

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear every Sunday and Wednesday.