
                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: SUNDAY, May 21, 1995                   TAG: 9505220007
SECTION: CURRENT                    PAGE: NRV2   EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY 
SOURCE: STEVE KARK
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

THUNDERSTORMS PUT US IN OUR PLACES

An old Indian myth has it that the wood from a tree struck by lightning is charged with two or three times the fire of unstruck wood. And for this reason, they carried slivers of it with them from one hunting ground to another, considering the wood charmed and useful for starting a campfire in even the wettest kindling.

I have to admit that I find this way of looking at approaching thunderstorms somewhat appealing. Otherwise, I've not much use for them. They tend to keep me up at night, as did the one that buffeted Rye Hollow last weekend.

Thunderstorms affect me in a way that cuts right to my primal fears. They never fail to whittle me down to size and remind me of my small place in the grand scheme of things. And though I'm well past the age when I accepted the angels-bowling-in-heaven explanation for such storms, I admit that even now they call up some degree of childish apprehension at their approach.

Instead of seeing them as one living in a modern age might, as the natural movement of air masses and the transfer of simple electric charges, they assail me at a deeper, more visceral level. I not only hear the distant thunder, I feel it in my gut as well. It resonates both around and through me like some dark spirit.

I might try to imagine the forces at work inside an approaching storm, but that doesn't make much difference in how that ominous flashing and rumbling on the horizon makes me feel: about as nervous as a long-tailed cat in room full of rockin' chairs.

I'll bet that you're not much different.

If not, maybe you should be. For instance, according to Jerry Dennis, author of "It's Raining Frogs and Fishes," a thunderstorm with a diameter of 3 miles "might contain 500,000 tons of water and a potential energy equal to 10 atomic bombs like those dropped over Hiroshima and Nagasaki."

If such potential havoc doesn't knock you back on your heels, it certainly ought to. In our foolish pride, we may think we can subdue Mother Nature, but even something as commonplace as a thunderstorm reminds us of how essentially helpless we really are in the face of it.

You might be surprised to learn that a Virginia man holds the world record for surviving lightning strikes. During his lifetime, Roy C. Sullivan of Waynesboro was struck seven times.

According to "The Guinness Book of Records," during his job as a National Park ranger Sullivan was hit by lightning while fishing, while driving a truck, while walking through a campsite and once while standing in his own front yard. On one occasion he was unable to avoid being struck by lightning even though he took shelter inside a building. The lightning struck the building, followed the electric wiring inside and jumped from an outlet to get him.

Guinness adds that he died by his own hand in 1983, reportedly rejected in love.

I'm not sure what to make of this. Like the old Indian myth, perhaps Ranger Sullivan was charmed because none of the strikes ever gave him a fatal injury. But then again, maybe it also contributed to his being unlucky in love. After all, who'd want to get involved with someone who was always going around getting hit by lightning?

There's no mention of whether he was any good at starting a fire in wet kindling.

by CNB