The physical scars have nearly disappeared from Manitou Beach, though some remain, if one looks hard enough. Most trees older than 50 years old still wear badges of survival with broken tops, most noticeable in the wetland southwest of the drive-in theater. Tree lines in the rural areas dip ever so slightly for a quarter to half-mile wide swath in some spots from Rome Road to past Round Lake. On a clear, calm day, a few, but not many, remnants can be seen here and there on the bottom of Devils Lake, particularly along the south shore: silt-covered pieces of building material, crumpled metal, and a row boat. Nature hides her scars well. The muck in this area can run several feet deep. Likely, what wasn’t retrieved after the disaster has long been buried under a couple feet of silt. Divers exploring this area confirm that for the most part, Devils Lake’s southern
lake bottom is fairly clear of objects, and one can sink an arm to the shoulder into the pulpy base and not touch hard ground.

The emotional scars have become easier to bear as the years wear on, but they will never completely disappear. In the early days of spring, thoughts drift to friends, neighbors and relatives who were hurt or killed five decades ago. The storm is quietly spoken about in tight-knit circles, rarely publicly, and except for observing that the tornado took the churches and left the bars, never lightly. Some have a newfound respect for the weather, while others shiver in unhealthy fear when the Manitou Beach area falls under a tornado watch or the sky glows an eerie yellow, the same color it did in the afternoon hours of April 11, 1965.