Uncle Cran's Diabolical Tale...

Lightning Strikes . . .

. . . and fishy tales.

"I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven."

(Image from Wikipedia)

Uncle Cran has a diabolical tale to tell, a close encounter of the brimstone kind, utterly unlike the numinous encounter of my more venerable Uncle Isam:

Since my many {or mini} fans are waiting with 'baited' breath for my latest fishy tale (do I have a fishy tail also?), here is another true even if fantastic tale of yesteryear:

Fishing, A Lightning Strike, (What Is That Strange Odor)?

A lifetime ago, at the tender age of 12, Cran (sometimes called Cranford, CB {by Aunt Cora}, or You Little Brat, stop bugging me {by brother Bradley}, called 'me' or 'I' by myself) decided to go fishing.

With a cane pole, can of worms, my sure-enough imitation Barlow knife, and a string attached to a twig for a stringer, I blithely walked the trail down to Big Creek, at a bend in the creek next to the 'crooked bottom' hayfield, where there was a deep hole that I was sure had some catfish. Recent rains had muddied the creek, which is the best time to find catfish feeding.

Pretty soon I had a stringer of foot long catfish . . . then in the distance there was a rumble of thunder. Hating to quit, I kept fishing until it began to rain, the thunderstorm getting nearer. Lightning and thunder was getting closer and more ominous, so I gathered up my gear and fish, and started home.

Just then there was a brilliant flash, and a deafening boom, as lightning struck [a tree] just a short distance away, not more than 100 feet from me! The hair on my neck was standing up from static electricity, and a strange odor assailed my nostrils.

Terrified, I ran all the way home through the rain and lightning, a distance of slightly more that a quarter of a mile [Editor: All uphill, too!].

After I got home safely, drenched and shivering (from fear as well as being chilled), we had fish for supper, and all was well with the world again, but the question lingered in my mind . . . What was that strange odor when the lightning hit the tree?

Innocently, I told this to big brother Bradley. He (as his son Jeffery does presently [Editor: Blood will tell.]) laughed at me, and said, "I'll tell you what you smelled. That was you when you . . . (let us say 'pooped' [Editor: Nah, let us say "shat."]) your pants. I was hurt, even as at present when being 'dissed.' But I stubbornly insisted there was a strong, acrid odor just as the lightning bolt hit the tree.

Years later, I read a book by John Morris II, In Search for Noah's Ark [Editor: Noah's Ark and the Ararat Adventure?]. There he described being caught in a lightning storm on Mount Ararat, where he and his fellow explorers had a similar experience, except they were nearly killed. He spoke of a "strong odor of sulphur" at the time.

So now I know it wasn't a figment of my imagination. I had noticed the same odor. In fact, on my farm I had an electric fence to keep my cows from breaking out of the pasture. I had noticed that the cows would smell the fence, and if it was active, they would leave it alone, but if the fence charger wasn't working, they would stick their heads through the fence. I couldn't detect anything, as I am cursed (or blessed) with a poor sense of smell because of my sinuses. I told my wife Gay, who can detect an offensive odor at amazing distances. She sniffed the fence, and said, "It smells like sulphur."

Now I am vindicated! It wasn't me, it wasn't my imagination, it was actually a reality, just as all my stories are true, trustworthy, perhaps dull and uniterestering, but are honest facts, not the strange, fantastic ramblings of certain unnamed individuals, whose initials are HJH and JK [Editor: Unidentifiable.].

Vindicated indeed! Confirmed by some fellow who fruitlessly sought Noah's Ark in 'Turkey' and calls himself John Morris the Tooth! However, we all know the true source of sulphurous fumes, none other than the darkest prince himself (who sometimes visits the Ozarks). Morris and company were nowhere near the divine sanctity of Noah's Ark but closing in on the very gates of Hell! Uncle Cran, lacking that proverbial sense to get in out of the rain, was himself dangerously close to that foul precipice.

Learn from Uncle Cran's lesson: Don't go fishing in troubled waters.