One summer I blew my whistle and ordered everyone out of the pool. As a lifeguard, one of my duties was to keep track of the weather, and at that moment it did not look good. In the center of an otherwise clear sky, a tight bank of coal-black clouds had suddenly formed, more ominous than any special effect. The temperature dropped; even the chattering poolside sparrows sought shelter underneath the clubhouse rafters. Ozone mixed with the fresh scent of chlorine. While pool-goers huddled inside the hushed locker rooms, I stood on the clubhouse’s front porch, overlooking a manicured golf course fairway, watching small groups of golfers as they, too raced for shelter.
The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood up on end. Thirty yards ahead, directly in my line of sight, a lightning bolt crashed down into a large oak tree, splitting the gnarled trunk in half. The sonic boom was instantaneous. Deafening. No counting required. In that prolonged single flash, a lightning ball three feet in diameter had been deposited in the middle of the fairway, eerily floating a foot above its oblong shadow on the plush grassy carpet.
I was transfixed.
Strong smell of ozone now — mixed with wood smoke and burned grass clippings. A faint humming sound. Static electricity accompanied the floating blue-while ball as it drifted over the fairway, ambling toward the clubhouse steps — heading directly towards me. Below the ball — like a trail that might be left behind in the sand by a passing serpent — a gray, smoky pathway marked the fireball’s passage. I could not move for the beauty of it. The moment was . . . frozen.
The fireball meandered closer, diminishing in size, shedding its silvery mass, now a large, sun-yellow beach ball, hovering less than fifteen feet away, undecided in which direction it would travel next, buzzing softly, like a spent ballast in a dying fluorescent light. Crackling, sizzling, now six feet away; the size of a soccer ball. A baseball. A golf ball. A single red spark!
“Pop!” Gone. Etched into an instance of my memory forever.
(originally published and copyrighted© 1998-2010 by Simply Tim in the Recipe du Jour news letter.)
Tim’s note: The Fireball was one of the earliest Simply Tim columns I wrote for Recipe du Jour, circa 1998. It is fitting that it appears here as one of the first posts on my new blog. Yes, although extremely rare, there are such things as fireballs, also known as ball lightning. The mind-boggling event I witnessed occurred at Watervliet Arsenal, Watervliet, New York, where I was spending the summer with Mom and Dad (then commanding officer of the Army post!) in-between high school and college. Which cements the happening firmly in 1968. A curious year, 1968. And an even more curious time.
–Tim
To echo the first comment – simply wow.
Excellent story.
http://www.blackwatertown.wordpress.com
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Wondered what happened to you. Good to see you back. Love the “fireball” story, reality can be so much more impressive than a movie when it happens to you.
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Sorry to hear about the misfortunes that have happened to the hosts of my favorite newsletters but it’s so good that I can see that you haven’t forgot about your readers.
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GREAT to read you again, Tim! (I think you’ve got the blog-thing down already).
Years ago we had a lightning-strike near us, and the bolt dug three ditches, threw up big rocks and then went into a neighbor’s house, where it turned into a ball that danced over the mantle-piece and vaporized several ornaments.
On a lightning-only note, in June we had such a bolt that all my (brand-new) kitchen appliances were killed and the glass cover of the electric meter blew off.
What was that line about Mother Nature?
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Thanks, Corri. I think Rich lost his kitchen appliances due to a lightning strike, also many years back. Nowadays, any item with a micro processor is fair game. That’s why, when I bought my washer and dryer, I made sure all the switches and dials were mechanical in nature, not digital.
P.S. Oh — thanks for the poster purchase. I’m sure you will like the Moonrise photo.
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Hey, Ken. Long time no chat. I’ve heard of such fireballs streaming through phone lines, apparently caused when lightning strikes the grid somewhere upstream.
Here’s a link with interesting information:
http://www.mendhak.com/82-ball-lightning.aspx
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Love the story, could see that fireball! Yes, I agree about 1968, got married that year and its been a strange curious ride, but I was able to hang on. Thrilled to see your blog, looking forward to watching it grow, maybe you and Rich will reach the heights of The Pioneer Woman. As blogging seems to be the hot item.
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My mom tells of the time when she was a girl when her mom was having some friends over in the afternoon. It was hot and dry where they were in lower Michigan but, as is common in the summers there, off in the distance was a storm.
While the ladies are sitting there the phone rings. Her mom gets up from the table and goes over to answer it. When she picked it up a small ball of lightning came out and rolled across the floor, burning the heel off of one ladies shoe where she had it hooked over the rung of the chair.
The ball of lightning continued across the floor and out the door where it dissipated.
This left quite an impression on all concerned!
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Wow!!! That is so cool!!
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I wasn’t a ‘faithful reader’ back then, but sure am now! Very riviting reading-so glad you’re back!
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Geeeez, glad to hear from you again! Thought I lost another ‘Nam friend! Now we need some recipes to round everything out LOL
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It was the most amazing sight I’ve ever seen. The burning electrical smell that was left behind was eerie as all get out.
–Tim
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all I can say is WOW! and Thanks
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