By Jim Hagarty
Now here is something you don’t see every day, or maybe any day. This is a Ford Fairlane Ranch Wagon and my Google research seems to suggest it is the 1963 model. Station wagons were everywhere when I was a kid. Of course, children in many families were more numerous and farmers found a wagon could serve a second purpose as a truck.
By Jim Hagarty
1986
Monday night about 10:30 I set out from the home of the Bornholm relatives I was visiting, after waiting a while for a break in the torrential rainstorm that struck this area that evening. I turned my car east onto Perth County Road 11, heading for Highway 19, Stratford and home. Though the rain had subsided, the fierce lightning continued and many times over the next 20 minutes the countryside all around me was suddenly blanketed with blue light and the pitch-black sky was stabbed by powerful forks of brightly charged energy.
All in all, as cartoon dog Snoopy likes to write, “It was a dark and stormy night.” Dark, stormy and – scary. I had little doubt my car and I would make it all the way home but the disturbing thought that we might not, that an accident or some mechanical breakdown would leave us stranded by the side of the road, crept into my consciousness and stayed there. It would not have been a nice night to be wandering up and down the roads in search of help. Suddenly my home, my cats, my TV and my bed never seemed so appealing as they did just then. It appeared to be a good time to tell God if he got me home safely, I’d never go out in a storm again.
I was not the only one fleeing the tumult – a big frog bounded across the pavement at one point and a ground hog scurried from north ditch to south. But few other vehicles were out and it was lonely. The radio was no comfort so I shut it off. It was just me, the storm and 18 miles of road to travel.
It never storms in the city. The winds get up and the rain beats down and there’s thunder and a bit of lightning. But there are also street lights to lead the way and coffee shops to duck into and somehow, except, I guess, in cases where a tornado or a hurricane sweeps through an urban area, any terror associated with a real blaster is minimal.
But among my memories of growing up on a farm in the country are dozens of frightening encounters with winds so strong they bent tall trees over like blades of grass, with thunder cracks so loud they shook you from inside out, with lightning so powerful you could hear it sizzle and spark and skies so dark they seemed evil. Those storms were naturally frightening for a child – any child – but they were made even more fearsome by the knowledge that even the adults in the family were afraid of these out-of-control elements. Grownups could shoo away bogeymen, monsters and belligerent dogs but they couldn’t chase away the thunder and it was disturbing to realize there were things out there more powerful than parents.
Nevertheless, that same fear that made it seem like a real good idea to grab the covers and pull them up tight over your head or to find another bed already occupied by someone bigger than yourself and crawl in under their blankets, gave summer storms an aura that translated into excitement for rural folk of all ages. Reminisce with a businessman and he’ll remember booms and busts, recessions and depressions. Old newspapermen recall disasters, elections and famous people who came to town. Teachers think back to brilliant students and troublemakers.
But people from the country remember storms.
There used to be no better evening’s entertainment than a mid-summer cloudburst, an electrical storm or a blizzard in winter. They required numerous trips to the window to survey the scene and all eyes were glued to the drama outside. Candles appeared on the table in the event the hydro went off and everyone huddled together in one room as these were not good times to be off somewhere by yourself.
Providing everyone was home and in the house, a terrible storm could be a pretty good time, especially if a friend, neighbour or relative got “stormstayed” overnight. It was usually a big letdown when a storm began blowing itself out and someone who would know these things remarked, “Well, it looks like it’s dying down.” It would be hard to get back to routine, especially if that meant school wouldn’t be cancelled.
I felt a bit of that excitement Monday night when the skies opened up before me as I drove through the storm. But nature, too often, for a city dweller is, well, just downright inconvenient and it was nice to get home.
Fresh from its success against the hare, this tortoise in Costa Rica is hoping to leave a croc in its dust. From the camera of my son, Chris. JH
By Jim Hagarty
2016
I am not a big fan of lightning. I think I live in a safe little world, then look up the sky to see a terrifying electrical storm. Perhaps my fear of it is a leftover from my farm days, when weather was a lot more real to a young guy. There were no big buildings around and row and after row of streetlights to put a damper on the light show. On the farm, it was right there for us to see. And it was not in our imaginations. Our barns and other outbuildings were all equipped with lightning rods, devices that would capture and diffuse the energy without setting the structure on fire. I never saw a lighting rod struck by my younger brother did one day.
Anyway, the reason I have gathered you all here today is to tell you that I heard on the radio the other day that the biggest lightning bolt ever recorded was 200 miles long. That is one long bolt, holy mackerel.
That’s it. I need to crawl back under my covers now.
By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker
I’m late with my limerick today.
Sun shining so had to make hay.
I’ve been running around
And have finally sat down,
But can’t think of a thing to say.
My part of the world here in southwestern Ontario, Canada, is pretty flat but there a few valleys here and there if you know where to look for them. This scene is near London. JH
By Jim Hagarty
2008
The other day I was standing in an office surrounded by four women and for a moment I wondered whether or not I’d stumbled into a convent and was interrupting a meeting of nuns. I hadn’t seen that much black since Johnny Cash graced music stages with his trademark garb noir.
Standing there in my brown shoes, socks, pants and shirt, I felt like the centrepiece in an adult version of Which of These Things Do Not Belong. If being the lone male in a gathering of five didn’t make me the obvious odd “man” out, the brown would certainly do it.
Traditionally, the colour black, when it has come to clothing, at least for mainstream society, has always signified the slightly sinister or the grief stricken. It’s never had much of an association with happiness, lightness, or cheerfulness, except, of course, for Old Order Mennonite and Amish people who use the colour for its traditional connections and to demonstrate their humility.
But you don’t find the members of biker gangs dressing in blue or violet and neither do those young folk who describe themselves as “goths”. To dress almost totally in black is to signal that you’re a bit of a rebel, bad even. Not someone to be fooled with.
Over the decades, a bit of black has shown up in my closets. A pair of dress pants and shoes here, some boots there, even a pair of black “blue” jeans. The occasional T-shirt and even, when I was still a teen, a favourite vest. However I’ve made no serious effort to use my clothing to make a statement as to my orientation towards the world and where on the badness meter I might belong.
In fact, in recent years, I’ve drifted towards very “neutral” colours, reflecting, no doubt, my status as a middle-class, 9-5, two cars, two cats, two kids Dad. And on those very rare occasions when I have attended events requiring formal wear, I have donned the expensive green suit I bought for a job interview 10 years ago. (I didn’t get the job, but have worn the suit ever since. It cost $600 so I am condemned to wear it till it disintegrates.)
Saturday, once again like an overgrown leprechaun, I dressed to go to a wedding and went outside in all my greenery. A family member discovered stains on one lapel of the jacket and having no time to see if they could be removed, I raced to the stores to get something, anything, for a ceremony due to begin only a couple of hours hence in another city. Panic-stricken in the stores, I was drawn to every piece of blackness I could find and soon emerged a mini Johnny Cash.
At the wedding, I received several favourable comments on my “outfit” but a niece feigned heartbreak at seeing me in something other than my green suit. I didn’t realize what a significant part of her life it was but when I thought about it later, I realized that she was so young when I bought it she could hardly remember me in anything else so this was a bit traumatic for her. I am determined to box it up and send it to her.
Someone else also remarked on the old suit and I heard this person say, “Nobody wears a green suit.” Hearing that comment turned a light on for me and I suddenly realized why, 10 years ago, a clothing store salesperson had been so effusive in her praise for how well I looked in green. She couldn’t otherwise ditch the turkey.
My future is not as a biker, a goth, a Mennonite or a nun, but if you see a bit of resemblance between a young Johnny Cash and me, feel free to point it out. Even an old Johnny Cash. Either way, my green days are behind me now forever – environment movement notwithstanding.
By Jim Hagarty
Here is a photo of the Roman Colosseum, taken by my son, Chris. The building is about 2,000 years old and still in remarkable shape after all this time. In its early life, it would have been a stunning sight to see. There were large poles erected above the walls and a white canvas could be extended over the entire place, for shelter during rainy days. The emperor’s special area was all covered in inlaid marble and some of that can still be seen today. Below the floor, which is gone now, is revealed the various cells where gladiators, hapless Christians, and lions prepared for battle. It was also possible to seal the floor and flood it and sea battles would be staged. When people see the wreck the arena is now, we assume it has just fallen away with time. But actually the Roman Catholic Church used the Colosseum as a quarry when it was building its own magnificent structures in Vatican City in the 1400s and beyond. There is concern about what effect pollution in Rome is having on the structure as well as the rumbling of hundreds of thousands of passing cars and trucks.
By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker
I know of a yellowjacket
I’d like to catch it, then whack it.
It hides in my car.
Before I get far,
I almost crash trying to smack it.
A remarkable monarch butterfly photo by blogger Al Bossence (thebayfieldbunch.com).
