As the calendar turns to late September 2025, communities across the American heartland are reflecting on a series of rare and destructive tornado outbreaks that have swept from North Carolina to North Dakota and deep into the Navajo Nation in Utah. These storms, some of which struck places unaccustomed to such violent weather, have left behind battered buildings, shaken residents, and urgent questions about preparedness and resilience in the face of nature's fury.
In Rocky Mount, North Carolina, the anniversary of Hurricane Helene and the EF-3 tornado it spawned brings a mix of anxiety and gratitude for Kezmit Howard, a third-generation small business owner. Howard made the difficult decision to close her daycare, Forward Thinkers, the night before the storm hit, prioritizing the safety of the 35 children in her care over business concerns. "Something inside of me was like, 'No, I need to close all the way down,'" Howard told WTVD. Her intuition proved lifesaving. The tornado tore through the shopping center where her daycare was located, blowing out windows, scattering glass, and destroying furniture. "The windows are blown out, glass is everywhere, my furniture is messed up, the whole area is gone," Howard recalled.
The devastation could have been far worse. According to Nash County Emergency Management Director Trip Bunn, fifteen people were injured and more than a dozen buildings were destroyed, but there was only one serious injury and, remarkably, no loss of life. "The main thing is, it was just property damage. One serious injury, but overall, no major injuries and no loss, no loss of life, which was the most important thing," Bunn said. The nearby Hing Ta Restaurant saw its walls ripped off and cinderblocks tossed like toys, while vehicles in the parking lot were flipped on their sides. Now, a construction crew is at work, stripping the building in preparation for renovation. As one worker, Kevin Lee, put it, "This is the first time I saw a concrete brick wall that breaks like that. (It's) probably the most damaged construction I've ever seen."
While North Carolina was still tallying its losses, another outbreak was gathering force across central and northern North Dakota. On September 14, 2025, the National Weather Service confirmed a staggering 20 tornadoes, though—miraculously—no injuries or fatalities were reported, as highlighted by KXNET. Two of these tornadoes reached EF2 strength: one near Beaver Bay Recreation Area in Emmons County destroyed a large pole barn and damaged a grain bin and farm equipment, while another near Denhoff in Sheridan County tracked nearly 13 miles, damaging multiple properties, flipping a mobile home, and scattering debris across roads and fields. Two EF1 tornadoes near Mercer and Menoken added to the tally, damaging trees, destroying another pole barn, and overturning a mobile home. The remaining 16 tornadoes were rated EFU, indicating that no damage was observed or confirmed—many of them documented only by storm chasers and radar data.
Local emergency management agencies and storm spotters played a crucial role in responding to the outbreak and conducting damage surveys, which began the day after the storms. The National Weather Service has since issued its final scheduled update on the event, noting that further information may be released if new details emerge. For now, the region is left to repair and reflect, grateful that the destruction was limited to property.
But perhaps the most startling tornado stories of September 2025 come from the Navajo Nation in southeastern Utah, a place where tornadoes are so rare that the Navajo language doesn't even have a direct word for them. On September 13, two tornadoes touched down near McCracken Mesa and Montezuma Creek, leaving residents stunned and scrambling to protect loved ones. Chasity Light, a Diné (Navajo) woman, was at a laundromat when a panicked stranger warned her that a tornado was forming near her home. Without hesitation, Light sped toward her family, witnessing the thick, gray funnel herself as it tore through junipers and rusty sand. "That's when I knew it was close to my home," she recounted to the Moab Times. "That's when I knew it was real."
Others, like river guide Louis Williams, were caught off guard while going about their daily routines. Williams, also Diné, was picking up a root beer when the cashier screamed "tornado." Unsure what to do, he rushed outside, then drove toward his river clients, only to find himself heading straight into the path of the storm. "I watched it dance off into the distance," Williams said. "And I was relieved, so relieved."
The tornadoes destroyed three homes, shattered car windows, tore apart animal corrals, and leveled several barns. Power poles were knocked down "like they were toothpicks," according to Aneth Chapter House vice president Bill Todachennie, though electricity was restored within two weeks. Navajo Nation Council delegate Curtis Yanito described the losses as devastating, especially for elders who had recently undergone medical procedures. "These folks lost everything," Yanito said. Fortunately, all affected residents were away from home at the time, and no injuries were reported—a stroke of luck that many attributed to both chance and traditional blessings. Yanito recounted how one man, faced with the approaching tornado, stood on his porch and spoke to it: "This is where I live. This is my home. You need to go a different route." The tornado, Yanito said, turned away.
For many in the Navajo community, the tornadoes are seen as a sign of Mother Earth's distress. Al Whitehorse, a respected elder, called the tornado a "force" and urged Navajo leaders to hold a ceremony to cleanse and heal the land. "Mother Earth is revered in our tradition, and ceremonies should be held to restore her," he explained. The lack of warning systems—many residents lack cellphones or internet—compounded the danger, with emergency alerts arriving only after the first tornado had dissipated. First responders resorted to driving house to house, urging people to evacuate.
Scott Rozanski, warning coordination meteorologist for the National Weather Service in Grand Junction, Colorado, said both tornadoes reached estimated wind speeds of 120 miles per hour, making them EF2s—on par with the infamous 1999 Salt Lake City tornado. Rozanski noted that Utah averages about two tornadoes a year, but almost never in such dry, rugged terrain. The region's mesas and canyons may have made the tornadoes appear to stop and start, adding to the confusion and danger.
In the aftermath, the Aneth Chapter House has become a hub for relief efforts, collecting donations of food, water, appliances, and building materials for those who lost their homes. Community leaders are urging donors to coordinate to avoid duplication and ensure that help reaches those in need. The Navajo Nation, wary of scams, typically only accepts financial donations given directly to affected families.
As the winds die down and communities from Rocky Mount to Montezuma Creek begin the long process of recovery, residents are left with a renewed sense of vulnerability—and resilience. Whether through quick decisions, traditional blessings, or the tireless work of emergency responders, lives were spared even as homes and livelihoods were upended. For many, these storms are a sobering reminder that, no matter how familiar the land, nature can always surprise us.
