Guest Post by Little Brother Blair Stringam
Working for a local farmer, I was making the substantial amount of $6 an
hour. Thank goodness college tuition at the time was around $300 a
semester.
My job that fall was driving a grain truck--first out to the field to collect
the thrashed grain from the combines--then back to the farm headquarters to
empty the load into a large grain silo.
The work wasn’t terribly exciting but it was paying the bills.
And the truck radio was great at playing the latest top 40 hits.
We worked from 7am in the morning to about 11pm at night. The hours were
long but I would be in school soon, so I didn’t mind.
And the long hours did mean that my paycheck was a little larger.
One evening we had worked even later than usual and I had just taken the last
load from the combines. I pointed the truck toward the north end of the
field and the field turnout there to the main road.
I was a little jealous that the combine drivers were done for the night while I
had about 45 minutes before I would have the truck emptied and parked for the
evening.
As I peered through the darkness looking for the turnout to the main road, I
noticed a greenish-white glow on the horizon.
As I gazed, I could see large beams of light that appeared to be shooting from
the ground up into the heavens. It looked a long distance away and I
frantically tried to think about what could be causing it. As I
mentioned, it was late and my mind would infinitely rather be asleep.
Now, Calgary was about 150 miles north of me and my tired mind started
wondering if some disaster was happening there. I stopped the truck and
just gazed at the pulsing lights. What tragedy could Calgary be
experiencing at that moment? Could Russia have just nuked the oil-rich city?
I started to tune my radio to the news station.
Then my weary mind began to wake up.
I realized I was simply looking at a spectacular display of the northern
lights.
Growing up in Canada, I had seen them. The northern lights. Certainly, I had.
But as greenish blue glows on the northern horizon.
I had never seen the spectacular pulsating light display I was witnessing that
fall evening.
Now I was struggling with my situation. Should I sit in the field and
enjoy the cosmic fireworks display or should I put the truck in gear, finish my
job, then head home for some much-needed rest?
Practicality won out. I decided that I would go dump and park the truck, then
try to get one last look at the spectacular light display before I went to bed.
I did so. But, sadly, when I looked again toward the horizon, only
a slight glow remained...
I haven’t seen anything like it since that night.
And I don't know if I will ever get the opportunity to see the breathtaking
magnificent display I witnessed then.
When there was just me. My grain truck.
And the lights.
One can only hope.
But if there is a next time, you can bet my truck will be parked.
And I will be enjoying the view.
