Thunderstorms Part 2

Lightning strike. Photo Matias Velázquez Carrera

Not all thunderstorms end easy. One summer day, the air was sultry and heavy, the white fluffy clouds were pushed out of the sky by huge overbearing thunderheads, dark blue and rolling, almost commanding a violent thunderstorm, and the first fat drops of rain began to fall. 

Any of us who were outside, came inside on my mom’s command as she hurried to unpin the clothes off the clothesline and hustle inside. We migrated to the kitchen to watch the storm better when Dad came in from outside. The wind picked up and the rain came down, and thunder rolled as each bolt of lightning made its debut. The temperature abruptly dropped, and the wind became cool, wildly whipping anything not tied down. We watched in awe, commenting on the various theatricals of the storm until finally it started to run out of steam. The wind stopped blowing, the rain paused, and it became quiet. Our cousin was there sitting on a stool closest to the kitchen window, the rest of us on chairs around the kitchen. Dad said, “well that’s the worst of it, I think”. Our cousin looked out the kitchen window at the same time as a brilliant, jagged bolt of lightning tore open the sky, and found its mark in the transformer pole that stood sentinel in our yard, not far from our house. It was a blinding flash that painted our walls a ghostly white, (at least that’s all we could see for a moment). The accompanying crack was deafening, a whip-like concussion that rattled every window. When everyone recovered from the shock, there was our cousin lying face down on the floor. He was so scared (so were we) and as he got up, all he could say was “smokin!’”. He was so close to the window he had felt the heat.

The familiar hum of electricity vanished, replaced by an eerie silence. Time stood still, the wall clocks stopped, and appliances fell mute, their connection to the world of power abruptly severed. Then we heard the patter of rain as it started again.

We peered through the windows to see the damage. The transformer was now a charred silhouette against the dark sky. There was a pungent ozone smell like burning wire coming off its remaining shell.

Outside, the storm pressed on, oblivious to the drama it had caused in one family’s life. Mine!

Another day my family found a cow and calf dead on the river hill. The cow had been hit by a lightning strike while her calf was nursing. Of course, they both perished and set the grass on fire all around them. How do they not know the danger of being on top of a hill during a storm? Ask the neighbor’s horse who also perished on a hill being an electrical path for possibly ?? 300 million volts?

My Mom hated summer storms, especially if Dad wasn’t there. She would pick up her accordion and play non-stop during the loud thunderstorms. Sometimes, if it was severe, she would herd us kids to the basement and play her accordion in case we were afraid. (I think she was the only one who was afraid). I loved the storms, and many times have watched them perform their light dance and drum solo’s. (within reason of course, I’m not a storm chaser by any means, I like to be safe)

On June 18th this year, a young man, Matias, was taking video of rain coming down at our local Climb Thru Time Museum. His footage was interrupted by a bolt of lightning that struck the flagpole. Needless to say it was scary but what an amazing picture!

I feel very bad for those who have experienced loss because of summer storms. Let us be reminded that there is both beauty and danger that lives in every summer storm.