Tuesday, August 22, 2006


I was outside pulling the hose pipe around so that I could water the plants on the back porch when off the south and west I started hearing thunder roll and the sky grew dark. The wind kicked up and blew hard making the trees, shrubs and grass sway like a praise and worship service. The storm moved closer and the lightening struck so close I could smell ozone. I jumped about three feet straight up. As dime sized drops of rain began to fall, I quickly rolled the hose back up and headed for the house post haste.
My Dad was fearless of storms until one August of 1977. He had gone down to the hunting club to scout out a good place for a tree stand. He wanted to be ready on opening day of deer season. A thunder storm started slamming it's way toward his position. He was heading for cover under an overhang on the banks of a nearby creek when a bolt of lightening struck a tree dangerously close to him. He later recalled that he felt the hair on his arm stand up an instant before it struck. He didn't remember if the force of the strike knocked him to the ground or if it scared the crap out of him and he fell to the ground in self defense but he said it felt better down there.
He crawled to cover and the storm passed. He was unhurt but for months after the incident he swore he heard a radio playing. The first few days he would walk all through the house trying to find the source of the music. My brother and I had some fund at his expense. "We can't turn the radio off, but we could change the station for you if that would help." He would flip us off and we'd all laugh good naturedly.
I wouldn't say that my Dad was afraid of storm, but after that he held a healthy respect for mother nature.

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