Check out this amazing picture, taken recently by an amateur photographer, of a tornado touching down in Iowa.
Growing up in Oklahoma, we experienced tornadoes just about every Spring. It became almost a nonchalant thing, mosey-ing over to Mrs. Berg's house down the street to hide out in her large backyard tornado shelter. On days when it wasn't being used as a shelter, the mostly-underground reinforced concrete structure sat empty except for a table and a couple chairs. I used to mow Mrs. Berg's lawn in the summertime, and she would put the money on the table in the shelter for me to pick up when I was done. It was always so much cooler down there than it was in her backyard... it could be 100 degrees in the shade outside, but the shelter was always cool (low 70s) and a bit damp. There were always some silverfish bugs down there, making it a not-so-great place to hang out... but otherwise it was a pleasant relief from a summer scorcher.
The damp quality of the air in there was likely due to the high water table in Stillwater, which was the reason why none of the homes in our neighborhood had basements. All the houses on Liberty Circle and the surrounding blocks were build on concrete slabs, with the only storage areas being the relatively large attics. Likely out of necessity, Mrs. Berg had the backyard shelter built, and invited the neighbors on our side of the circle to use it whenever we needed it.
Our neighborhood was a relatively nice one. Built in the 1960s, "University Estates" had lots of ranch-style houses made of brick, with attached two-car garages dominating the left side of the houses. Our neighbors were nice people for the most part, though there were some assholes peppered about. During the winter and summer, the weather in Stillwater prevented much more than a cursory "hello" between those who lived around us. But in the spring, whenever the sky turned still and green and the tornado sirens went off, we met the neighbors in Mrs. Berg's backyard. The children (including me) and the women would sit in the shelter while the men would stand outside looking for the funnel. Sometimes they'd see it... most times not (our county is pretty big from a square-mile standpoint).
Perhaps that's why I don't know my own neighbors. Admittedly it's a bit different, living in a city (even a small one like Madison) instead of a small town, and living in an apartment rather than a single-family home. But I think that the real reason why I don't know my neighbors is the simple fact that, while growing up, the only time I was ever really in close proximity to the people who lived near me was during a natural disaster.
That explains a lot, I think.
