Tornado warnings are an entirely different animal when sleeping in a tent.

The primitive camp sites in the Apalachicola National Forest cost only $3 per night, on the honor system.

We dropped $6 in the hole and set up camp.  The tent sites meant a water spout every 100 yards and an outhouse.

Not another soul was within 10 miles, except the bees.  Did I mention the bees?

We took a walk and found rows and rows of beehives hidden in the woods.  We met Winnie the Pooh, Pigglet was cool but that bear is a dick.  It’s all a charade.

On the trip back to our campsite we discovered that we were within 50 yards of swamp on three sides.

We knew dusk was arriving when the bees started tagging out for mosquitoes.  With no bug spray, and not a prayer if we had it, we fled to the safety of our tent before the blood suckers carried Lucy away.

I hate mosquitoes.

I didn’t sleep much that night.  I had read about the threat of bears and alligators on the park’s website the day before.

The next morning we woke up with the sun, not entirely refreshed.

The short trip into town for bug spray and some groceries turned into a long trip in search of WiFi.

Upon returning, my trusty torn rotator cuff whispered to me “rain is on the way”, so we packed everything up and went inside the tent to read and take a nap.

The rain came and went.  It was gentle and peaceful.

Golden rays drew us back outside in time for dinner.

The mosquitoes came out, the bug spray came out, the mosquitoes didn’t seem to mind.

More rain was on the way so we put everything away and, once again, fled to the tent.

A few hours into our slumber we were awakened by rain.  Heavy rain.

As we tried to sleep, the heavy rain gave way to heavier rain and strong winds.

My first thought --- what if it floods?  Shells littered the campsite when we first arrived, they must have gotten there somehow.

I don’t know how swamps work.  All I know is that we were only a few feet above the swamp water line, and there are alligators in Florida.

The heavier rain and strong winds began to mix in flashes of lighting for variety.

In the finale rack, rain was pouring down in sheets.  I don’t know if it was soaking in through the top of the rain fly, or sneaking in underneath of it.  We were wet.

The lightning flashed constantly, determined to kill us by heart attack if not electricity.

The tent walls were lit up with flashes of white light.  We could hear the thunder getting closer.

“Will we be okay?” Melissa asked.

Nothing we can do about it either way.

The lightning charged in through the heavy onslaught of rain.  Lightning and thunder made Melissa and I cringe.

Lucy cried.

The lightning was so close, it seemed as though the thunder preceded each flash.

We’ve got to get out of here.  If the lightning doesn’t get us, a falling tree will.

We searched frantically for the keys to the car.  They had to be in the tent somewhere.

Lightning flashing, thunder crashing, the keys were nowhere to be found.

We searched and searched, shaking out the sleeping bags, thrashing about with flashlights illuminating the tent walls.

After agonizing minutes passed, Melissa found the keys in the book bag.

We rushed to the car in our bare feet.

As we sat in the car, we breathed a sigh of relief.  We looked at each other.  We’re alive.

High five, I said.  High five, she said.

As we turned on the radio, the rain slowed to a trickle.  The lightning stopped.

“The National Weather Service has issued a severe thunderstorm and tornado warning for Wakulla County,” the electronic voice read.  “Doppler radar is tracking tornado producing conditions heading northeast at 65 miles per hour.”

We’re alive and heading southwest at 70 miles per hour.

Shortly after I wrote this, we learned that a tornado touched down about 30 miles away from our campsite.