Vanishing Point
My grandparents lived on a farm in rural North Dakota…
During a visit in my early childhood a strong storm developed. Everyone was huddled in the house watching and waiting. My memory begins with hearing the twister rather than seeing it. As it approached, the strong wind tipped over the outhouse. To my horror, my mom and an older cousin ran out into the driving rain and blowing debris to set it upright. The distance seemed enormous to me and I tried to run after her. My grandmother had to hold me back. When the storm passed, everything was okay. A hay wagon had flipped over but there was no real damage. Yet the memory of my mom out in the midst of the storm shook my security! I decided to commemorate this early experience and “Vanishing Point” is the result.
