Lightning

Papaw leased land to raise tobacco across the road from his property. He kept an old pony named Lightning to work the fields. Lightning was a gelded red pinto, and he was as big around as a barrel. He was a gentle horse, but if he knew someone was afraid of him, he would pick, chasing them any chance he got. He ran Mamaw when he got the chance. If he was loose and caught Mamaw in the yard, he would run her back into the house.

Once, on wash day, Lightning got in the house. We had the wringer washer going on the back porch, and the doors were open as we were going in and out working. Mamaw came out of the bedroom into the kitchen as I came in the back door. There Lightning stood between us, drinking rinse water out of the kitchen sink. Mamaw panicked. I turned the little butterball around and led him outside.

Lightning was a work horse, but all of us kids wanted to make a riding horse out of him. Papaw had a harness, collar, singletree, and bridle, used for Lightning to work the tobacco fields. There was no riding gear. No saddle.

One day, Leslie and I decided to go horseback riding. Leslie climbed the side of the stall, giving her enough height to hop on Lightning’s back, and grabbed a fistful of mane to hold on. I climbed up and wrapped my arms around her tight. Out of the barn we went, straight to the creek, to jump it.

Our ride ended quick, as we both were dumped off into the creek, Leslie landing on top of me, knocking me out. When I came to, I was in the bathtub. Mom was dumping cold water over me to get me to wake up. The rest of the family were towering over the tub, watching with concerned looks.

Lightning was part of our family for decades. After the tobacco barn fell, Papaw retired from raising tobacco. Ol’ Lightning retired as well. His days were spent grazing the pasture and enjoying the easy life after years of work.