If we won’t go where the adventure is, apparently the adventure will come to us.
That’s my theory, anyway, and I’m sticking with it. I don’t know if God’s got it in for me (or out for me) or is doing me a favor, or if it’s Karma or the 3 Sisters mucking with my life, but . . .
enough with the adventures. I need to get caught up. It’s almost spring. . . .
To our Earthquake & Ice Storm Story of the previous days, we can add another. (And by another I mean an adventure, or an ‘interesting’ time – which is not good, apparently here lately . . .)
(Now: how to tell . . . factual like a news feed? or as a story? . . . a writer’s quandary . . .)
I was watching the TV Wednesday, relaxing after the previous week’s hi-jinx when suddenly there was a flash! bright enough to show blue-white through my drawn shades and curtains while at the same time a loud ‘BANG!’ – and other, more ominous sounds – and the TV flickers, then goes off. There’s another loud ‘BANG!’ which I now recognize as that obvious thumping grunt you get when several thousands of volts of electricity are in a state of uncontrolled discharge . . .
Someone’s hit the pole, I thought.
So I leaped off my couch (hearing all the clatter – okay,more like a serious snapping & sizzling popping) – and rush to the window (yes, just like in the “Christmas Story”) to see what is the matter . . .
and my yards on fire.
Just to make sure it’s got my attention, a lightning bolt flashes again, following the wire like a bit of molten doom, arcing across the road in brilliant blue-white flashes about 150 feet away – and ‘FLOOOM!!!’ – there goes another section on fire, racing across my yard in 15-20 mph winds . . .
. . . and racing directly towards the thin wood line where rests a 300 foot long, decades old, and recently added onto brush pile, with an innocent (and fairly freshly built, if I say so myself!) neighborhood, just thirty feet beyond . . .
the power’s out & so is the phone . . .
So I grab my trusty ol’ Obama phone (which I got despite a couple rejections . . . as best I could figure out it was something to do with me being a white male . . .) . . . call the fire department as I’m rush out . . .
to grab the water hose.
By this time the fire has consumed approximately 1/3 of the front yard . . . the “fire lady” is having me stay on the phone, the fire department, while only a short walk away (about 1-1/2 miles) is taking too long to get there . . . so I’m spraying away with my hose, chasing the flame front across a quarter an acre of yard . . .
The fire department shows up and then parks. They don’t deploy their hoses. They cannot reach the fireplug anyway. It’s too near the wire . . .
“Hey!” I yell. “I can use a little help here!!! Wanna spray that down?!!” I’m looking at the 30 foot tall leylands I planted over decades ago. The flames are beginning to creep among them, taking advantage of the thick mulch bed that’s built up over time. One of them – the one nearest the driveway – begins to go up in flames . . . tall stands of pampas grass soon follow, going up in a rush of flames . . .
and they sit there, their hoses still dry.
“The fence is electrified!” they say. “It’s too dangerous for you to be there!! Get back in the house!”
I ain’t an old ex-Marine for nuthin’, I didn’t watch “MythBusters: Peeing On 3rd Rail” for nuthin’, and didn’t work for a high voltage electrical firm for awhile . . . for nuthin’, didn’t study engineering & how electricity works most all my life . . . fer nuthing . . .
plus I had my Cheap Chinese loafers on. They got rubber soles, right? And you can depend on the Chinese to use cheap rubber, not some kind of fancy synthetic which might actually be conductive . . . well, you hope, and fear a little bit . . .
“I’m taking a measured risk!” I yell back at them. They’ve called a cop – he, too, can’t cross the wire and/or fence – but they want to. “Just like you are!”
About that time the power line above their heads (they had advanced a bit up the road, not paying attention) – BOOMED – and crackled and threatened them with a twenty foot long loop of melting metal and they ran away . . .
But the grass was dry so I did my thing while they did theirs, containing the fires (multiple now, though they’d gotten their brush truck and ridden to a point where they could spray a little, too) – and occasionally with the big hose – as long as it wasn’t too close to the fence or where the power line, still arcing & spitting like lightning fighting tiger – where I would find glass glazed sand fused rocks later . . .
But eventually the power trucks came, cut the line, the fire, contained, one leyland burned, one neighborhood ‘saved’, a greater disaster avoided . . .
I’ve had enough of ‘home adventures’ for now.
and the wife can’t complain about the brown spots in the grass anymore.