In Florence, about summer of 1950-
Probably the strangest event I have ever witnessed-
Life along the river on a quiet summer night could be very peaceful. The occasional sound of a passing steam powered train a half mile north across the river was one of the sounds that might arise to really disturb an evening after all the truck and automobile truck traffic along the road in front of the house had lessened. After dark, traffic really was light and it could be several minutes between vehicles. It could be very pleasant and near sublime at times, at least to me in my memories some sixty years or so later.
During the pea harvest season, the constant sound of the trucks carrying the freshly vined peas, stacked in neat wood box crates on the back of the trucks, going up and down the river road in front of the house, going back and forth between the vining machines on the many farms of the area and the cannery in Stanwood. So much of the areas harvest passed in front of our home every day and into the night during the corn and pea harvests. Not every night, but quite often, in order to keep the local harvests on schedule the pea vining crews would work under lights at the vining machine well into the night. How late I never realized for I always drifted off to sleep even with all the quiet noise one encountered in that wonderful period of my life.
Of course, on occasion, one might hear the loud bray of a bull confined to his small pen adjacent to the barn milking parlor on the farm directly across the river from Uncle John's home, the home where Mother grew up. What might disturb the animal, I never understood, for his brood, his private harem, had completed their evening milking before sunset and were all lying down and at rest in the fields for the night, chewing their cud in the rapidly declining light, and once again awaiting the morning milking routine. All was at peace until the "Bull" gave his call of unrest. Or was it his sign of approaching danger? But he could certainly assert himself and give notice to all around him, that this was his right, his duty to express his instincts of the moment. Poor guy, what a life to live. I need not say more, for his duties certainly had it's ups and downs. Sometimes he was needed, sometimes he was not. Perhaps his call was nothing other than an expression of extreme frustration. Most likely he was still hungry, I shall never know.
But I was a distant witness to his demise one evening just after dusk. Something I shall never forget, and once again it was the loud call of this confined bull across the river. A very strange thing to have witnessed and it happened so quickly.
It was a common sight to see large winged cranes fly along the river, usually in the morning and the evenings as I recall. One evening while on the side porch with Uncle John feeding his faithful old dog "chummy" I did notice a crane flying in the weak light along the river at a customary height, about the height of power poles. Not really very high, but that was not unusual for it seemed to be a convenient height for them when they were in flight. But this one time was the last time for one surprised crane.
For some reason, the crane decided to alight and rest this one evening, and his choice of locations proved fatal for him and the old penned up bull. I do have a slight memory of just watching the crane land on what was probably a common place to find temporary roost for many cranes in the area. That place was on a power line that ran along the road on the opposite bank. A natural place to land for sure, it was at his level of flight but what happened then is difficult to describe in detail for it all happened at a seemingly lightning speed. I turned away from watching the large bird and immediately I heard a squawk, saw a bright flash of light, and an extremely loud cry from the bull, a very drastic call for help I am sure, but alas it was his last call in the evening light.
What had happened was that the crane after settling on one wire of the dual-strand power service atop the poles, had for some reason reached across and in some fashion had made contact with the second strand of wire which immediately short-circuited the power as it went through it's body. Of course it immediately killed the animal and it of course fell to the ground near the bull, which was penned outside at the corner of the barn directly below the bird. But that was not the end of the event.
The power lines being damaged due to the direct short between the two wires caused by the bird, apparently weakened, broke and fell to the ground right within the bulls pen. As commonly happens when a live power line comes into contact with the earth it begins to bounce around erratically powered by it's continuing contact with the ground. The result was inevitable I suppose for the out of control live power wire instantly made contact with the bull, causing it to cry out in pain, and it too fell to the ground dead. Again, a most horrible cry of helplessness I have never heard since in my life.
But that again was not the end of the story. No more life of any sort was lost after the initial onslaught but the next thing to happen was that the live power wire then made contact with the barn somehow and immediately set the barn on fire. It was rapidly building in strength as Uncle John and I stood there watching in disbelief what had just transpired in what seemed like just a split second.
We did eventually gather our wits and I was told to run next door to Mary and Charly's house and alert Mary to call the East Stanwood Fire Department. Mary and Charley had the closest phone in the area. To this day I can't really remember what excited words may have come out of my mouth but Mary somehow understood and went immediately to her phone with Charley putting on his boots to race next door to view the scene with Uncle John. It wasn't very long before we heard sirens coming from town and eventually wind their way down the river road on the far side to the barn. The barn was actually saved, but with some serious damage.
What a sight it must have been for the farmer coming out of his house as well as for the arriving firemen to come across the scene and to see such destruction. Even today it seems an almost impossible scene to me but I did witness it. It doesn’t seem to have traumatized me for life however. At least I hope not. I do look for large flying birds whenever near a river though. Never know what might happen. Lightning can strike twice they say.
