On one perfect night in July, we ended up back at one of my favourite places, Stoney Acres farm in Athens, Wisconsin.  It had been one hell of a day.  My husband, Tim, and I had traveled from Toronto to Central Wisconsin with 4 kids: (almost) 2, 3, 6 and 10, in an epic whirlwind of stress and snafus; sweet-talking and sprints.  Due to some type of technology outage, the check in and bag drop at Terminal 3 in YYZ was absolute chaos at 8 am.  Part of the challenge with any trip departing from YYZ is that you have to clear U.S. customs before you ever leave the airport, and the other backups left us talking with a customs agent at 10:19 am and then sprinting across Terminal 3 in an effort to catch our 10:28 am flight.  My eldest children sprinted ahead of me to the gate and my husband carried 2 backpacks and 2 small children while racing behind us.  But, we made it. 

We also made it through a similar race and near missed flight in the O’hare airport.  But eventually we touched down in Wausau.  It was a hot afternoon and after arriving at our aunt Reen’s house, we all took a dip in the lake and got ready for a night at the farm.  Pizza on the farm was one of our favourite summer adventures before we moved from Central Wisconsin to urban Toronto in 2016.  We were thrilled to be back and to be connecting with our friends at this community hub and overall magical spot.  Friday nights, people gather from hours away to meet at this organic farm in Athens to enjoy their pizza and feel a connection to the land and each other.  The grassy area surrounding the large, brick pizza ovens is a patchwork of mis-matched tables and chairs, blankets and strollers.  Kittens and kids chase through the maze of people, playing with trucks in the sandpit or racing between the pigs and the chickens. 

We named our third baby, Flynn, but his most common nickname was “Flynner Chicken Dinner.”  On this particular pilgrimage back to the farm, he was 4 and ready to claim that nickname.  One of the most popular activities that my city kids enjoyed on this annual trip to the farm was the opportunity to catch the chickens.  The whole landscape was like something out of a movie or children’s book to them, as we lived in an extremely dense neighbourhood in urban Toronto, where our back yard consisted exclusively of blacktop.  But on the farm they could swing into hay or climb the apple trees or catch chickens.  They would sneak up on the chickens (or flat-out chase them around) until they could corner one and scoop it up under the belly.  It required some level of patience, tolerance and strength.  Up until this year, Flynner Chicken Dinner had struggled to catch his own chicken.  But this was going to be his year, he could tell.  He informed us, “I’m Flynner Chicken Dinner and chickens should love me.”

He was successful and the night started out perfect.  It was a hot summer night with the people I loved. 

And then the weather blew in.  Naturally, we had checked the forecast before navigating the hour or so from Wausau to Athens for this adventure.  We knew storms were likely, but, as a hopeless optimist, I chose to push ahead with the plans.  After a few pizzas and local beers and plenty of classic farm activities, the sky started to turn this eerie deep green colour and the temperature dropped.  The wind started whipping through, flapping the table cloths and causing the crowd to pile into the adjacent barn. Naturally, the kids were scattered about, up in a nearby hayloft or the other barn with a few scattered cats and chickens.  Some of our friends worried, sending out rescue parties to locate and bring the children close.  Parents raced back and forth across the field to corral kids back into the main barn as the skys erupted into a downpour.  Tornado sirens started to sound and my good friend Karina panicked, packing her boys into her car and driving into the storm in spite of our pleas for them to wait it out.

We watched and waited.  The kids were soaked but seemed energized by the situation.  My eldest, Emaline, had even caught a slippery frog and was proudly showing it off to everyone in the barn.  Reen held my babies on her lap and read them children’s books.  We continued eating the remnants of pizzas and raising a glass to friendship, farms and summer storms.  Lightening shot through the eerie green sky.

And then, just as quickly as it had rolled in, the storm dissipated.  The sun started to peak back through and the sky got brighter.  At one point, there was the most clear and astounding double-rainbow, framing the farm and all of us.  It was a perfect sign that we were safe and where we needed to be.  Karina messaged to let us know she was also home and safe with her boys.  We marveled at the rainbow and packed up our gear.  As Reen drove us home, the kiddos all zonked out and the car was quiet.  While some of the heat and humidity had subsided, on the horizon, in all directions, was the most incredible natural light show I’ve ever seen. Heat lightening and faraway storms danced along the horizon, decorating the distance.

Summer storms bring a special sense of magic and fear; of destruction and beauty.  This was no exception.  I’ve been in the area, and at that very same farm for others, but none were quite as extreme and quick and precious as that night.  It was the perfect end to a chaotic, stressful day.  We had somehow managed to control all the things we could impact – racing through airports, sweet-talking attendants and feeling accomplished.  And then a storm helped remind me that control is an illusion, but when you respect and wait it out, nature can deliver some pretty awesome scenery and even more awesome memories.