cartoonist ric leonard has illustrated my column...

that appeared in the july 15 print edition of the herald-gazette.



Slight shelter in the storm

I knew the storm was brewing but it crept up on me nonetheless.

I was on my tractor cutting grass with the bush hog. I was encased in a painter’s mask in an effort to keep the various allergens that haunt me at bay.

At every turn at the top of the hill, I could seen the thunderheads forming beyond the lush field of sunflowers planted to feed doves.

I had my mind set on finishing up the area I was mowing before waiting out the rain in the barn.

I waited too long
.
Suddenly, I felt the barometric pressure take a nose dive. I turned and watched as a lightning bolt seemed to hit the dove field just 300 yards away. I quickly disengaged the John Deere’s PTO, snatched the tractor into high gear and headed up the gravel road for the barn and safety.

As I did so, a lightning bolt seemed to split before my eyes with half striking on either side of the road before me. The deafening thunder was instantaneous. Before I got to the barn, hail was pelting my back and neck where the hair already stood on end.

Once inside the barn, I watched as the storm unleashed its wrath. I switched the scanner in my truck to the weather band and listened to the severe thunderstorm warning for Barnesville. I was in the midst of it.

The wind howled, ripping a piece of ancient tin off the roof of the barn and flinging it well out into the adjacent cow pasture. Suddenly, hail and rain were coming in the sides of the barn. The hail pelting the tin roof and walls sounded like an AR-15 on full automatic.

I wondered if the old barn would come down on top of me.

I got into my truck and watched the fury. It seemed the storm raged forever. Lightning was coming down all around me. The thunder was never ending. I could barely see the pole barn just paces away.

Finally, the hail stopped and the rain slowly diminished. The temperature dropped to the point that I was briefly chilled. I peeked around the barn door and watched as the storm went east through Redbone.

I uttered a silent prayer that it would kill no one and spare the farm homes in its path. It was, by far, the worst storm I have ever been caught out in.

I started the truck and cruised the pastures to make sure no cows had been struck by lightning. In low spots, there were piles of penny-sized hail.

I got back to the barn and went to check my rain gauge to see just how much precipitation had fallen. The gauge had long been affixed to the top of a high fence post.

It was nowhere to be found.