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Show I sat by the window that looked past that tallest tree to my new pond in the swale. Mother liked that window because it let good light fall on her sewing machine and, if she looked up to rest her eyes, she could enjoy the finest of our trees. Her machine was the old treadle type because we had no electricity. Well, none of the mannerly sort. But that day-- I drew a chair up near the window, placed my sock-feet on the treadle of the sewing machine and gloried in the rushing rain. The shower pelted down, brown water swirled along the swale, lightning flamed, thunder applauded the fireworks with loud claps a second or two later. That interval shortened. The sky chief was stalking closer clashing his spear heads together to strike out mighty sparks Then the blow. A bolt struck just behind the house. That tree we cherished, young but highest for miles in our valley, evidently tapped an accumulation of electricity in the cloud. Jagged fire jumped around the iron fittings of the sewing machine from top to treadle. I felt half-blinded by the bolt slashing into the tree a few rods away, but I saw blue flames flicker around me. The tall young tree must have served as lightning rod to save store and post office and our dwelling quarters. I felt no shock despite the sparks flitting about my face but I rocked with the concussion. When my eyes cleared I saw the tree. The bolt had shivered it more than halfway to the ground, causing it to split into three section!, many splinters, pieces of bark. There was no part we could save. |
