The weather these days continues to be as unpredictable as a politician.

One minute there’s abundant sunshine; the next, thunderstorms are blowing in.

When a small limb hit my bedroom window during one such weather event, I thought of the storm niece Bailey and I survived several summers ago.

We were spending a week in Yalobusha County at Quail Hills Plantation, thanks to the kindness of dear family friends.

A quick trip into Coffeeville to the Piggly Wiggly turned into a nearly four-hour adventure for my niece and me.

Bailey, 16 at the time, had just finished telling me of her penchant for inclement weather on our way to the Pig. We procured our purchases and began the 10-minute drive back to “the farm.”

The moment we turned onto Hwy. 7, the sky fell. Windshield wipers were a waste. As I looked out my side window, I noticed trees being blown and bent.

“I’m not sure, Bailey, but we may be in a tornado,” I calmly told my niece.

Finally, we saw the sign for CR 71 and turned off the paved highway. When the deluge diminished, we drove forward, only to see a huge tree had fallen across the road, blocking our path.

I turned around and headed toward the other end of CR 71, where we got about two miles into the country before discovering an even larger tree blocked our way.

By cell phone, a friend told us of a third gravel road that would take us to the farm, so we entered Grenada County and headed down what we thought was our last chance to get home before dark.

We didn’t get far. Another tree down. Bailey and I got out of the car, and in the rain and lightening, we broke the smaller limbs from the tree, clearing a portion of the road so we could drive around the tree.

Finally clearing a narrow opening, I drove through but the car slid in the mud, into a water-filled ditch. We were stuck.

Back at the farm, which was without power, family and friends pondered a rescue plan. As they tried to get to us from the other end of the road on which we were stuck, they met uprooted trees and downed power lines.

“We may have to spend the night in the car,” I told Bailey.

“You know, this is the most excitement I’ve had all summer,” she told me, smiling largely.

Another call from our would-be rescuers let us know there was, in fact, one more road to try that led to and from the lodge. We waited.

Two young men in a pickup came along, asked if someone was coming for us and made no offer to help. I was miffed; Bailey was quite happy when they drove away.

“I don’t trust people,” she said. “I’ve watched too many episodes of “Criminal Minds.”

Moments later, our rescuers came along and finally got us back to the farm, where there was still no electricity.

Later, in dry clothes but complete darkness, I tried, but failed, to get “Criminal Minds” out of my thoughts.

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