At 6:15 pm on July 19th, the sky looked weird and the air turned deathly still.
We had planned to go to an outdoor concert in Amery, Wisconsin that fateful Friday night. We had packed four folding chairs and packed them in the trunk along with rain jackets, just in case. Fortunately, we’d left the car in the garage with the door shut.
“Can’t tell whether it’s going to rain or not, said Gunter, my husband. “If it does, we can go to the fish fry instead.”
The four of us—Gunter and I along with his younger siblings, Helmut and Helga—remained on the patio, staring at the sky. It was turning greenish-black.
“I don’t like this,” I said. “Let’s get inside.”
We entered the sunroom with picture windows facing the gardens and White Ash Lake. Then it hit. Suddenly the sky roared like an oncoming freight train—and then whooshed through the treetops like a jet engine. We stood there, transfixed. Our feet were riveted to the floor. We were seeing, firsthand, the sheer, raw power of nature. One huge pine twisted, uprooted, and crashed to the ground in a slow, deliberate motion. Then another. And another. Altogether, our six trees at the shoreline fell on top of each other like dominoes. Their trunks and branches carpeted the entire lawn between our house and dock. Beyond, we could see White Ash Lake kicking up angry waves. My heart pounded but common sense prevailed.
“Move away from the windows; they could break!” I yelled.
Terrified, yet fascinated, the others just stood there.

The pines along the lakeshore fell across the yard like dominoes.
“Move!” I insisted. “This is a tornado. I’ve been in one before. Follow me down to the bunk room. That’s our safe space.”
They didn’t get it.
Then a dull, heavy THUD shook the house. The roof! The sky turned black and the power went out.
We all raced down to the bunk room, a windowless Man Cave we had fashioned out of the utility room for our grandsons. Gunter grabbed flashlights but our trusty generator kicked in after 10 long seconds. We had lights! Five minutes later, the generator stuttered and stopped. My stomach clenched and my tongue felt like sandpaper. To drown out the godawful noise, I chattered about the tornado I’d experienced in as a child in 1952. My Bavarian husband and his siblings had never experienced one in Germany; they had no first-hand knowledge.
When the racket subsided, we ventured upstairs. It was only 6:45 although it had seemed like an eternity. The sky was no longer black; the storm had moved on. Our first impulse was to go outside. We were shocked to discover there was no way out. Fallen trees and branches filled every window and door. Out of the lakeside windows, I could see nothing but trees across our entire lower patio and yard. We couldn’t see the dock, but I thought we saw a glimmer of white beyond the tangle of trees. “That must be our pontoon,” Gunter said softly, still in shock.
Helga called our attention to water dripping onto the kitchen counter and splashing onto the floor. “Looks like the roof is leaking,” she said. We sprang into action, positioning every wastebasket and bucket we could find. Later, we found water dripping from our rec room ceiling. We covered the sofa below with towels.
Because we couldn’t exit through any of our doors, Gunter manually opened the garage. We all filed out behind him, astonished at the destruction. Our driveway was blocked by fallen trees; but no matter, so many trees had fallen from the woods onto South White Ash Lane that we could barely make out the road!
My daughter Kim and son-in-law Mike insisted on driving to Northern Bliss as soon as they could. They had experienced straight-line winds but even those downed six trees on their property—thankfully, none near their house. The downpour had created a river of rushing water down their driveway. We begged them not to try; they wouldn’t be able to get through. But they were determined. Their usual 20-minute trip took 2.5 hours, chainsawing their way through. The worst devastation they encountered along the way was my four-acre wooded property, with hundreds of trees down, some of them across the road. There they joined the drivers of five other blocked cars who were also chainsawing their way through. Their last challenge was to move parts of trees blocking our dead-end road. Mike and Kim wanted to bring us back to their home, but we said no. We were the bucket brigade, protecting our property from further damage from the rain. We four spent the night the old-fashioned way: by candlelight. We collected rainwater from the buckets to flush the toilets.

Holly removes branches from my hydrangea and hosta garden.
Early Saturday morning, Mike called on all our relatives living in Minneapolis to come on down to help. Six arrived, each with his or her own chainsaw. Mike’s brother-in-law helped him tarp the roof, which was broken right at the peak with a massive oak branch inside the hole! A huge tree had uprooted and tipped the propane tank partly on its side. The jolt had cut the buried line from the generator to the propane tank; Mike went to Menards to purchase copper tubing. Then he built a new line. The others focused on cutting the trees that had fallen from the woods across the street onto our driveways. Downed power lines crossed the driveway exit, but they could clear the entrance. My granddaughter Holly especially impressed me. She owns a “Queen” battery-powered chainsaw and cut and removed branches from my hydrangea and hosta gardens. Seeing six relatives—without helmets, chaps and boots—wield those chainsaws impressed Helga. In Germany, such work would require licensing, training, and special clothes. Chainsaws would not be a common item in their garages.
By Saturday afternoon, we had generator power again. Those in the White Ash Lake area without generators waited 1-2 weeks for the electric company to repair all the lines. They had 6000-7000 customers without power in Polk County and brought in 100 linemen from Minnesota. The following week, The Wisconsin National Guard arrived to help open the roads to remote homes on the other side of White Ash Lake.
In addition to structural damage to the house roof, minor damage to the cabin, a destroyed dock and boat lift canopy, arbors, and numerous smaller items, Northern Bliss lost 22 mature oaks and pine; it will never be the same in my lifetime. A similar story can be told among all the property owners around North and South White Ash Lake. Not one of 80+ properties was spared. I expect to hear the buzz of chainsaws, the grinding of stumps, the roar of heavy machinery, and the pounding of hammers until frost—as the recovery continues. How ironic! My latest blog was about migrating north to the sounds of silence here in the land of lakes and woods. The silver lining is that all are safe, and no lives were lost, thank God. We will rebuild.
Next: The Recovery Begins
About the Author: Lois and Günter Hofmann lived their dream by having a 43-foot ocean-going catamaran built for them in the south of France and sailing around the world. Learn more about their travel adventures by reading Lois’s award winning nautical adventure trilogy. Read more about Lois and her adventures at her website https://loisjoyhofmann.com.
August 17, 2019 at 4:13 am
Having experienced some horrific tornadoes in my lifetime (while growing up in Indiana) I can well imagine the terror and aftershock at the devastation. I will never forget the Psalm Sunday tornado that was an F5 and stayed on the ground for over a mile. I’m so thankful that you all stayed safe and your house was repairable. So fortunate, when you realize what could have happened!
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August 17, 2019 at 1:41 pm
I was in the F3 tornado of 1952 that struck Eureka Township, near the town of Centuria. Our farm was is a hollow, so escaped major damage. Others were not as fortunate. Many barns were flattened. 3 lost their lives in that one. I never expected to be in another tornado in my lifetime!
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August 19, 2019 at 6:59 pm
What a great summary of the storm. We have a cabin on upper white ash and we are just beginning to work through the mess. The area will never be the same in our lifetime but we were very blessed that no body was injured. We decided to stay at our home in Mendota Heights the night of the storm since the heat and humidity were to high at our cabin, I sincerely believe someone was watching over us since it turned out we made the correct decision. Joel Theisen
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August 20, 2019 at 6:06 pm
Wow, Lois! Talk about real-life drama!!!!! So glad nobody was hurt. Is the clean-up/repair all finished now? How’re you and Gunter doing? Hope you guys get a chance to really just relax! Love and hugs, Joni and Mel
Joni Browne-Walders (Mrs. Mel Weiser) jonibw@hotmail.com cellphone: 602-334-8571
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August 31, 2019 at 3:35 pm
Wow, just reading about your experience makes me realize the incredible, and spooky, forces of nature. That was quite an experience. I grew up in Iowa where tornadoes are common…but they still are a force to be taken very seriously, they can cause so much damage. Glad that no one was injured at your house, but I am sure losing all those trees was heartbreaking.
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September 28, 2019 at 9:05 pm
[…] experienced a F2 tornado at Northern Bliss, our summer lake home in Wisconsin. I published a story about the storm and its immediate aftermath. That story ends on Saturday evening, the day after the tornado, when all of our helpers left to go […]
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October 2, 2019 at 11:46 pm
Lois, I felt the experience with you, and it reminded me of when a hurricane Ivan was approaching the island of Ambergris Caye, Belize, when we lived there in 2004-2005. Very scary, and well-written story.
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October 3, 2019 at 12:05 am
Thanks, Sonia. I think this story should resonate with anyone who has faced a natural disaster.
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