Thunder on the right
From the sun porch of our grandmother’s Kingsport cottage, we could watch lightning storms burst around the Minas Basin. Over open space, the brilliance of flashes filled the sky from water to cloud. Many times during a storm, a bolt would zigzag through the sky like a jagged finger, to poke the lamp post at the end of the wharf. This was a vivid object lesson on how lightning strikes high points. We never went outside during thunder and lightning for fear bright claws from heaven would smoke around us.
The flare of far-off lightning was sure to set Dad to counting the seconds between the flash and the rumble of thunder, to judge how far away the storm was. When I see lightning, I still count, “One-one hundred, two-one hundred…” It’s important to know. Otherwise, you might be struck as you dash to the outhouse.
When we were at home in Digby, we had a panoramic view of electrical storms over the Annapolis Basin. They didn’t show up nearly as often as storms further up the valley. We would unplug the television and no one answered the telephone. Out of habit, we counted the seconds between lightning flash and roll of thunder. The safest place to be during a storm, Dad told us, was in a car because, even though it was metal, the tires broke the connection to the earth.
My husband had a very different experience with electrical storms. His grandmother insisted everyone in the house wait out the storm by sitting on a bed with feet off the floor. Fear, rather than curiosity, held sway. No one could blame her for holding this extreme attitude as family history had been altered forever. Great-grandfather Richie, while awaiting the arrival of a cargo ship (he was the customs officer) at the end of Morden Wharf, was struck by lightning and died.
In spite of dramatic examples like this, we do become blasé, don’t we? One summer, about 25 years ago, summer was crammed with thunder and lightning storms. One surprised us nearly every other day. While I wouldn’t say we were cozy with these storms, fear and caution were definitely on the back burner—so much so that some neighbours even talked on the phone while storms rumbled around. It was inevitable that a surge of electricity would jump through the phone line and zap our neighbour right in the earring. Not everyone who is struck by lightning perishes but I can’t help but wonder whether soul and psyche escape radical change.
For the past hour as I write this column, I’ve been listening to thunder roll closer and closer along the North Mountain. Now it sounds like it’s surrounding the house with rumbles to the north and grumbles to the southwest. The usual morning walk is out of the question and I dare not turn on the computer. No washing dishes either— once lightning struck my sink. It hummed and glowed. Writing cursive on a notepad, now that’s possible!