Word: hails
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...usually was awakened and taken from a nice warm bed to the cellar. There we sat listening to winds, thunder and hail. When the door was lifted and somebody announced that all was clear, it usually would still be raining. Nobody bothered to carry me back to our house. I had to walk back barefoot in the mud, get a pan and wash the sticky red stuff off my feet. It was hard to wake me up for school the next morning...
...still working on his degree in meteorology at Oklahoma University. He admits fieldwork appeals more to him than the written thesis that still separates him from a degree. But he is regarded as an expert contract worker and weather photographer, and when tornadic storms are pelting his truck with hail and threatening imminent catastrophe, Moore's language can be impressively scientific. He has caught up with and photographed more than 60 tornadoes in the past eight years, and he speaks expertly of anvils and shears, gust fronts and vortexes, lips and inflow bands...
...jams the truck into gear, and we race north. Behind, hardly the length of a football field away, the ground beneath the tornado is suddenly lost in a dark howling whirlpool. Then the truck is hit again with the full force of the hail. A shower of red dirt and debris tossed up by the tornado batters it. Minutes later, as Moore pulls into Covington, tornado sirens suddenly fill...
...first heavy drops splatter on the windshield, washing away the dead insects. A jumble of blue gray shapes rushes across the sky. Soon chilly blasts of air shake the truck. A windmill in a nearby field whirs crazily. "It's only a matter of time before we get hail," says Moore...
...turned a stunning emerald green, and huge hailstones are smashing on the truck's roof. It is 6:16 p.m. Moore pushes east as the hailstones, some of them literally the size of golf balls, threaten to crack our windshield. After plowing through a curtain of hail and rain, the truck turns south and breaks through the devastating storm. As it rolls through tiny Covington (pop. 605), every light in town blinks off and on, twice, because of storm-blown power lines. "Look for an escape route," Moore warns Moyer...