Part 1 of 3 – Metcalfe’s Clouds, Thunder and Lightening

Posted by Vickie Metcalfe (’70):  Bottineau, ND

Gary and Dunseith Blog friends,

Please bear with me during this July, as I tell this tale in at least three parts.

Part I

                For everything there is a season.
This is the season of my life, when I have finally chosen to write about clouds, thunder and LIGHTENING. 

                Clouds, Thunder and LIGHTENING; and why the Cliff Metcalfe  branch of the Metcalfe clan makes  an unspoken choice. The choice, always concludes with action,

                STOP. Get off the machinery or horse. Go inside.               

In my earliest memory, my family began the haying season in earnest in July.  Dad would mow alfalfa, clover or timothy, let dry to cure, then rake and stack before the ‘’’’rains’’.

The “tame hay” ;1^st cutting Alfalfa and Clover were always first, then Timothy and finally meadow hay.  The best cutting of sweet hay unblemished by rain, was hauled to the barn, lifted into the haymow  with various pulleys and oft times pure horse power.  This precious hay was saved for the milch cows, in  the midst of winters cold breath whilst the frost was thick upon the walls.

I believe I had completed 2^nd grade in Mrs. Hansen’s  combination room on the old gym stage. And I was lookin forward to moving into 3^rd grade come fall.

A July 28^th ,  like none other,  I dasn’t forget is permanently etched.  It is the colour of a bright glowing shiny dime into memory. Time. I refer to was in the early ‘60’s

T’was an ordinary summer morning but with an anticipation of excitement, we knew it was not ordinary at all. My sister and I were quite excited for July 28^th . It meant  the summer birthday of our cousin. Our family would drive north after supper to celebrate with the family of Martha and Dean.  Martha’s mom, Dorothy had a knack for baking cake  and decorating.

We did our usual morning chores, helping in the barn,  separating and washing each disc  from the cream separator, carrying water and breakfast dishes.

While our mother, prepared the noon dinner, my sister and I took the old blue blanket out into the front yard, spread under the big Elm tree, sat waiting listening, until the time to run up the hill to fetch the mail.

Dad was out on the  flat, the “Homestead” with Sonny haying.  They had started that field the day before and it was perfect drying weather.  The “Homestead” was located within a  mile south west of  Art and  “Eva’s. 

Finally calling from the house, mom told us it was time to go get the mail.  We loved that job.  Everyday on the farm, mail was our treasured mystery, what would it be today?

Would  brown Jenny Wren be building her nest in the mailbox?  If lucky, we might get a glimpse of her on sitting on the nest!

Perhaps, the Dakota Farmer came?  Mom liked the recipes and stories, Dad the ads, and Me? I rather liked, looking for the  funnies,always trying to figure out the humor.

My sister and I walked up the hill  through the gate to the mail box. Mom liked  us to hurry because  when Dad and Sonny came in for dinner she wanted  the water to be poured cold into glasses.

The mail had come. We  had just reached and  pulled it out of the box,when_______”BOOM”___thunder?

Surprised me,  because looking  at the sky, I was seeing only about three  clouds  south in a clear blue sky with the bright sun overhead.

Splat….Few rare big splatting  sprinkles hit us dashing down  down the hill to the house. Splat.

 Oft away in the distance, a few booms.

Rains did not come.

                No LIGHTENING?

                                No more big thunder booms ?

Dinner was ready. Water poured, glasses  were condensing…..

                NO Dad and Sonny . 

We did not eat.   (At our house, at that time, we never ate until everyone was at the table ) My sister and I went out into the yard sat on the blue blanket waiting.  I cannot recall if mom got a telephone call or not.  We had a persnickety ringer telephone, Our ring was  a short– a  long___ a-short ring.

We girls sat  waiting on the blue blanket under the shady Elm tree.  A long wait. Listening…..to the quiet.

Listen.

Finally, we hearing the sound of the pickup coming up the big hill  from the west, by the East well.  The black Ford pickup slowly crunching on the gravel, slowing at our gate, turned, and came down the hill to our right.

 Dad  was   ____alone. _____he was__ all___alone.

The black pickup  stopped by the door,  dad sat for a time quiet, he got out, went into the house and spoke with mom.  We girls said not a word. I don’t believe I even breathed.   Something was wrong.

The door shut quietly as dad came to the blanket on the grass.   Solemnly, we kept quiet. 

Dad sat then leaned back, laid his head down on the blanket. He said nothing. All we heard, just the sound of his deep slow breaths.

I think my sister and I both knew something bad happened.  My chest hurt. An awful feeling in my gut, like couple years before when our uncle was killed.

  Dad spoke not a word, just weary breaths.

We said not a word going to the house, our mom spoke.

She said, “Sonny is dead.”

 I don’t remember  the rest of the afternoon, doing chores or eating supper.

We did  get in the car and drove up to Floyd and Dorothy’s. I don’t recall much of Martha’s party, grown ups murmuring quiet voices.

I do know I was there with my family, and we were not alone.

 A heavy black feeling had followed us there.

This is all for today.

Thanks Gary,

Until part 2.

Later. Vickie

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      Posting from Neola Kofoid Garbe:  Bottineau & Minot, ND

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