Ab

for Dessie

. . . I'm sure she remembers.

There  are  only three things that  can kill a farmeer: 
lightning,  rolling  over in a tractor, 

and  old age.                             Bill  Bryson                                      



 Splat!   A huge drop of \water hit him in the middle of his forehead.   He opened his eyes slowly and tried to turn over onto his left side. The pain was like a knife, whichever muscle the tried to use.                                                                                                                                                                                       

Drip!  He looked up and only saw the underside of the rough boards that made up the bottom of his wagon bed.  The water was oozing slowly through a crack between two boards and forming the drops which had awakened him.  He moved aside just before the next drop fell.  By rolling painfully back until he was lying on his right side, he was able to look out on the rain soaked area that surrounded him and his farm wagon.  He stared for several minutes in absolute astonishment and disbelief.

*******

It all began early that morning. Ab had risen early as usual, assessed the coming day as he tended to the morning chores of feeding and milking.  He had determined that it was going to be a fine sunshiny day, and the cornfield he had planted two weeks earlier at the Fox Pond, would be needing its first plowing. There had been only a little rain and that several days ago; the ground would be just right.
After breakfast, Ab stabled the mules, curried and brushed out the worst of the dirt in their coats and put on the harness getting them ready for a full day's work.  He went in, had his breakfast, picked up his lunch and returned a half hour later to hitch the mules to the wagon.  He tied the one-row, mule -rawn cultivator on behind the wagon and set off for the Fox Pond.
Ab had two forty acre blocks of land.  The home forty where the house and barn were located and the Fox Pond, another forty acre block located a little over a half mile to the west, as the crow flies, but almost a mile by road.  The sun was only about an hour high when Ab parked the wagon in the grove of trees on the north side of the forty and hitched the mules to the cultivator.
The sun was warm on this early spring day, the soil was just right for plowing, otherwise the morning was uneventful.  When Ab judged the sun to be directly overhead, he stopped for his dinner, unhooked the mules took them to the creek for water, and fed them corn from the bag in the wagon.  He noticed a number of smallish clouds drifting leisurely up from the western horizon; they seemed to be generally a little bigger as the day wore on. Not unusual for springtime; no problem unless one got really big.
Mid afternoon found the plowing going well; he could complete the field by sundown if all went well.  As the sun slipped further toward the horizon, it became more and more cloud covered; eventually becoming covered by the clouds.  Ab kept a wary eye on one large dark cloud and made a mental observation that he might have to finish tomorrow.
He looked to the west as he turned the rig into another row.  The cloud was very dark and suddenly the wind changed markedly.  It had been blowing softly west to east; now it came briskly from the east.  He knew the signs, he stopped, unhitched the mules, and, leaving the cultivator in the field, drove them briskly to the shelter of the trees and his wagon.  It would hopefully be only a passing shower and maybe he would be able to finish today after all.  He tied the mules to a nearby tree and slipped under the wagon to check what might be remaining in the lunch pail.
The roar of the approaching precipitation was louder than usual; it hit hard, balls of ice the size of marbles or bigger.  The hailstones beating on the tree leaves and sometimes on the mules surprised and alarmed the mules, who snorted and tried to bolt.  Ab knew they were securely tied, so he didn't worry.
Suddenly, the air became charged. It almost crackled in the manner that makes one's hair stand on end.
Then there was a blinding flash and an unbelievably loud crash. Ab lost consciousness.

******

Now he was awake and peering our from under the wagon upon a scene he would never forget.  The tree where he had tied the mules lay split from top to bottom and lay in two pieces.  On either side, each with his own half of the tree, lay the mules.  They were quite still, and a tiny wisp of smoke creeping upward from one of the collars.The rain had dwindled to just a pattering of drops; hailstones littered the ground, the tree was split, and worst of all, the mules appeared to be dead.  Ab crawled painfully out from the wagon, found that what he had suspected with regard to the mules was entirely correct.
"lightning" he muttered, "damn".
He stood stone still, staring, for a long time. 
He looked to the west where the clouds were beginning to break and a small patch of blue was visible.
Well, he thought, it's a long walk home and it's getting on to feeding time. 
I'll come back tomorrow.

He picked up his lunch pail and started slowly for home.

He did not look back.