Tornadoes in Atlanta

As I sit down to write, I’m eating two poached eggs on wheat toast, and I can’t help but think, Am I really eating hen period, Gary? Really? My eggs taste fine, but I have to admit my appetite was significantly reduced when I started to think about Gary’s speech, which left me nauseous and with no desire to eat industrial meat, eggs, cheese or milk for a while.

I seem to have picked the worst day of the week to go sit by the creek; it is about 40 degrees and 40-mph winds whip at my already chilled face. It is late afternoon, and the sun is falling behind the budding trees across the creek. The low sunlight reflects off the fast-moving rippling water and causes me to squint. Finally, some of the trees have started to bud, and flowers are beginning to sprout up. Over the weekend, I was in Atlanta for an ultimate Frisbee tournament, and every time we stopped for gas or food characteristics of springtime became increasingly noticeable. By the time we reached Virginia and it was light out, I could see that flowers lined the highways. In Atlanta the trees were in full bloom.

When we arrived in Atlanta, it was pouring rain. One of my teammates, who lived in Georgia until she was 15, expressed surprise that the weather forecasted so much rain because Atlanta has been experiencing a severe drought for a while now. When we were unpacking in our hotel room, I was really surprised that there were no notices near sinks or showers telling guests to conserve water. When I was in Australia for winter session my junior year, everywhere I went there were conservation stickers everywhere; the toilets even had two flush settings—a half flush and a full flush. I began to wonder why Georgia had not taken similar measures to attempt to conserve its limited water.

The first night we were in the hotel, a 135-mph tornado ripped through downtown Atlanta causing severe damage (luckily, we stayed in the northern suburbs, which, ironically, is actually considered a tornado alley). It was the first tornado ever to touch down in downtown Atlanta, and it cut a path six miles long and 200 yards wide. Then, on Saturday afternoon, severe thunderstorms and tornadoes rolled through Atlanta’s north suburbs, where the tournament was being held and we were playing. A little later in the afternoon, another tornado went through downtown Atlanta. My weekend consisted more of running away from severe storms and seeking refuge in vans than it did playing ultimate.

I couldn’t help but wonder about the freak nature of the storms. Is climate change and global warming the culprit? On the long drive home, I set my frustration at the weather aside (we played one real game, and the other was played in 2 inches of standing water), and started to wonder about this question. When I got home, I did a little research. I already knew that there is definitely a scientific correlation between climate change and hurricanes, and global warming is certainly causing changes in the weather and the magnitude and frequency of storms.

Scientists predict that global warming increases the energy in the atmosphere, and this is a key factor in tornado formation. Warmer air means more moisture is trapped in the atmosphere, and moisture is another factor. The combination of atmospheric energy and moisture causes instability, which results in the potential for more tornadoes to form. Between 1960 and 1990 the occurrence of tornadoes in the United States has almost doubled—from 617 to 1134.

On the ride down to Atlanta Friday, I had started reading The Weather Makers. My frustration about the weekend aside, I can’t help but laugh about the irony here.