A few years ago, when my husband said he wanted to live in the country and farm, I said ok.
When we were looking at homes, all I wanted was a basement. I am, after all, Kansas Mom and I quake in humble fear of the tornadoes that tear across our home state every year.
Guess what we don't have?
That's right. We have a gross crawlspace, the entrance to which is half-blocked by the stairs installed by a previous owner at the side door.
So, when we bought our farm, my husband and I talked about a storm shelter. I believe my sentiment was pretty much, "I will follow you to the country. I will help you farm. I will learn to can and all such things. It will, however, be your job to research, purchase and supervise the installation of a storm shelter before the spring storms are upon us. I can guarantee I will be one unhappy anxious wife without one."
A few days ago, there was a tornado warning with a wall of clouds right above our house. Today, they came to dig the hole.
And install the shelter. Through a series of decisions, most of them by others, our shelter resides well within view of the living room window, but I'm ok with that.
It's not too pretty on the inside, but it's solid. We'll be stocking it soon with some blankets, water, flashlights, and other necessities, though I hope we'll never have to use it.
I am very grateful for my shelter and I hope my husband knows how much I appreciate his work to give me a greater sense of security. I know it is only God who can protect us from the storms, but the installation was quicker and less expensive than we anticipated, His handiwork. Even if we never have to huddle inside as a tornado rages overhead, just having it in the yard eases my mind, and that's a kind of shelter, too.