Excerpt from the autobiography of Taft Rowberry WRATHALL
(1909 - 1985)
[Written approx. 1980 (age 71)]
Water Bags
The commodity aboard of greatest worth was the water and the canvas water bags. There was plenty of water at Fishing Creek but it wasn't fit or safe for human consumption. On each hayrack and at every haystack would be one of these water bags. I don't believe science has done much to improve on these canvas water bags as a source of cool water. Just enough water would seep through the bag wall to keep the outside moist, and in that hot, dry air, evaporation of this surface moisture would keep the water inside cool and refreshing. After waltzing around with a pitchfork in hip-deep hay for about thirty minutes under the gaze of big old Sal, there was nothing quite like connecting my mouth to a water bag and gulping the water down. Because my mouth was bigger than my throat as I raised up my head to let the water run in, it would overflow, run out of my mouth and trickle down my chest. My shirt would already be wet from perspiration and this cool overflow would be a delightful waste of water. Evaporative coolers were also used at our home to keep food cool. Discarded, wooden shipping crates, about two feet square, would be wrapped with burlap sacks. Burlap sacks were good because they were absorbent, had a coarse texture exposing a lot of surface to the air, and, most important, they were available and cheap. Much of the farm supplies came wrapped in burlap and the harvested wheat was carried about in burlap sacks. On top of the burlap covered box would be placed a pan of water containing strips of burlap carried out over the edge of the pan. I didn't know it then, but have learned since, that because of osmosis and the surface tension of water it would slowly creep up the burlap, over the edge and spread out over the burlap covering the box.
The continuous evaporation would keep the box interior cool enough to keep the butter solid and drinks cool even in a hundred-degree temperature. This had always seemed to come as close as possible to getting something for nothing. The only requirement was to keep the pan full of water, which was a daily or twice-daily chore in really hot weather. Another energy-free way we kept food cool was by immersing it in running water from the many flowing wells in Grantsville. Many of the watering troughs for cattle were continuously being filled from a flowing well. Grandma [ Charlotte CLARK Rowberry (1845 - 1923)] had a flowing well in her backyard, and the water was not only real cool but was also real soft. People from all over the neighborhood would come with buckets to get water to wash the womenfolk's hair. Rain was also collected in large wooden barrels under the eaves of the house and barnyard sheds for use to wash the lady's hair, as it also was soft.
The name Fishing Creek for this area was not entirely without reason, as there were a few streams of sluggish water meandering through the fields, some as deep as four feet. The sluggish water and mud bottom were just right for carp, and when the time and circumstances were right, I would cautiously creep along the stream bank, pitchfork in hand, awaiting a chance to use it as a fish spear. Some of these fish were monsters as long as three feet, and, like the water, slow and relaxed. I could tell a fish story about the giants I speared and the mighty struggle I had to throw them out on the bank, but truthfully I had very little success. I saw many big fish, and I threw the pitchfork hard and, as I thought, straight, but usually I missed. I learned years later, in a Physics Class, one probable reason for my failure. There is a law in "optics" which says the ratio of the angle of incidence to the angle of refraction is equal to the ratio of the incident velocity of light to the refracted velocity. In other words, light is bent when it comes out of the water and the fish is not where it appears to be.
In my opinion, the two most devastating acts and spectacular displays of nature are tornadoes and lightning. I have never been in a tornado but let me tell you about this lightning story. It happened on the way home from Fishing Creek. I have seen a couple of trees split down the middle by a lightening bolt, but this experience beats that. The profile of Fishing Creek is a flat meadow with widely-separated haystacks and barbed wire fences dividing the land into five or six hundred acre fields. Ordinarily, in threatening weather, we would keep one eye on the sky and if things looked like a thunder storm was headed our way, [we would] pack up our tools and head for home. This day it was so sudden we found ourselves embraced by it before we could get out. The sky was black and the lightning heavy. We were very vulnerable on that car riding along the flat open fields as the storm completely enveloped us. In an electrical storm, inside a steel bodied car is one of the safest spots to be, [but] on a car is one of the most dangerous. As fast as the cloud could re-cock itself, lightning would strike, first on one side and then on the other, then in front of us and then behind us. Someone nervously commented that if you can hear the thunder everything is O.K., but if you can't hear a close one, it is because you have had it. Thunder from each stroke seemed simultaneous with the lightning and I was plenty scared. Suddenly a blinding flash hit the fence alongside the road about fifty feet away. As it did so, out of the bolt appeared a brilliant electrical ball about six inches in diameter. It slowly rolled along the top wire on the fence for fifteen or twenty feet, then dropped to the ground and disappeared. I couldn't believe my eyes. There was strong smell of ozone which is the characteristic smell produced by an electrical discharge in air. [Molecules] of oxygen (O2) in the air are ionized, producing ozone (0). This "ball lightning" was not an optical illusion, as it does occasionally occur, but is not often seen or very well understood. I enjoy lightning which isn't too close.