Yard Art
Posts: 79
Joined: Thu Nov 29, 2012 10:12 am
Location: Cushing, Wi
Could this be why we are mechanical nuts
Around age 10 my dad got me one of those Little
Compound Bow beginner kits. Of course, the first month I
went around our place sticking arrows in anything that could
get stuck by an arrow. Did you know that a 1955 40 horse
Farmall tractor will take 6 rounds before it goes down?
Tough sumgun.
That got boring, so being the 10 yr. old Dukes of Hazzard
fan that I was, I quickly advanced to taking strips of cut
up Tshirt doused in chainsaw gas tied around the end and was
sending flaming arrows all over the place. Keep in mind this
was 99.999% humidity swampland so there really wasn't
any fire danger. I'll put it this way - a set of post
hole diggers and a 3ft. hole and you had yourself a well.
Anyway, one summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows
into a large rotten oak stump in our backyard. I look over
under the carport and see a shiny brand new can of starting
fluid (ether). The light bulb went off. I grabbed the can
and set it on the stump. I thought it would probably just
spray out in a disappointing manner . . lets face it... to a
10 yr. old mouth-breather like myself, ether really
doesn't "sound" flammable. So, I went back
into the house and got a 1 pound can of pyrodex (black
powder for muzzle loader rifles) to add to the excitement.
At this point, I set the can of ether on the stump and
opened up the can of black powder. My intentions were to
sprinkle a little bit around the ether can but it all sorta
dumped out on me. No biggie...1lb pyrodex and 16 oz of ether
should make a loud pop, kinda like a firecracker - you know?
You know what? Screw that. I'm going back in the house
for the other can. Yes, I got a second can of pyrodex and
dumped it too. Now we're cookin'.
I stepped back about 15ft and lit the 2 stroke arrow. I
drew the nock to my cheek and took aim. As I released I
heard a clunk as the arrow launched from my bow. In a slow
motion time frame, I turned to see my dad getting out of the
truck... OH SHOOT! He just got home from work. So help me,
it took 10 minutes for that arrow to go from my bow to the
can. My dad was walking towards me in slow motion with a "what's goin
on"
look in his eyes.
I turned back towards my target just in time to see the
arrow pierce the starting fluid can right at the bottom.
Right through the main pile of pyrodex and into the can. OH
- SHOOT.
When the shock wave hit it knocked me off my feet. I
don't know if it was the actual compression wave that
threw me back or just reflex jerk back from 235 decibels of
sound. I caught a half millisecond glimpse of the violence
during the initial explosion and I will tell you there was
dust, grass, and bugs all hovering 1ft above the ground as
far as I could see. It was like a little low to the ground
layer of dust fog full of grasshoppers, spiders, and a
crawfish or two. The daylight turned purple. Let me repeat
this...
THE DAYLIGHT TURNED PURPLE!
There was a big sweetgum tree out by the gate going into
the pasture. Notice I said "was". That mother got
up and ran off.
So here I am, on the ground blown completely out of my
shoes with my Thundercats T-shirt shredded, my dad is on the
other side of the carport having what I can only assume is a
Vietnam flashback: " ECHO BRAVO CHARLIE YOUR
BRINGIN' EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE CEASE
FIRE!!!!!
His hat has blown off and is 30 ft. behind him in the
driveway. All windows on the north side of the house are
blown out and there is a slow rolling mushroom cloud about
2000 feet over our backyard. There is a Honda 185s three
wheeler parked on the other side of the yard and the fenders
are drooped down and are now touching the tires.
I wish I knew what I said to my dad at this moment. I
don't know - I know I said something. I couldn't
hear. I couldn't hear inside my own head. I don't
think he heard me either... not that it would really matter.
I don't remember much from this point on. I said
something, felt a sharp pain, and then woke up later. I felt
a sharp pain, blacked out, woke later.... repeat this
process for an hour or so and you get the idea. I remember
at one point my mom had to give me CPR so dad could beat me
some more. Bring him back to life so dad can kill him again.
Thanks mom.
One thing is for sure... I never had to mow around that
stump again. Mom had been complaining about that thing for
years and dad never did anything about it. I stepped up to
the plate and handled business.
Dad sold his muzzleloaders a week or so later. And I still
have some sort of bone growth abnormality either from the
blast or the beating. Or both