‘“Up home we loved a good storm coming, we’d fly outdoors and run up and down to meet it,” her mother used to say. “We children would run as fast as we could go along the top of that mountain when the wind was blowing, holding our arms wide open. The wilder it blew the better we liked it.” During the very bursting of a tornado which carried away half of Mount Salus, she said, ‘We never were afraid of a little wind. Up home, we’d welcome a good storm.”
“You don’t know anybody in Baltimore?” they had asked Becky.
But Becky had known herself.’
The Optimist’s Daughter by Eudora Welty