Dyno-Might!

In addition to ranching, until recently we also operated a small mom and pop General Store in a neighboring town. The store was built in the early 1900's and oozed with country ambiance. It had old hardwood floors that were pock marked from the spikes on loggers boots, and permanently stained black spots from the grime on miners boots. It also had an old 4 foot tall pot belly stove surrounded with antique whitewashed wooden benches.

Our little General Store and it's pot belly stove served as the hub of the community. People sometimes came in just for a cup of coffee and a place to warm their toes. It was around that stove that the problems of the world were discussed and solved in plain simple language.

We knew each of the townsfolk by their first name and also knew more about their personal lives than we had a right to know. Small town talk, small town gossip and small town confessions all took place in front of that stove.

We became very close to one particular family that you'd most likely have to describe as "back hill folks." If you were to meet them you would think that this back hill family, with it's kin more plentiful than the fleas on their hounds, stepped right out of the pages of John Steinbeck's novel: The Grapes of Wrath. They looked and sounded the part, but they were the most sincere, honest and friendliest people we had ever met. They were also a never ending source of entertainment with their "accidental antics." God help us, they are still our friends. (Think National Lampoon's A Christmas Vacation.)

One of the younger clan members, Albert and his wife Tina, lived in a single wide mobile home just up the hill about a quarter of a mile from our store. At the time of this tale, Tina was 7 months pregnant, and looked like she was about to give birth to twin baby hippopotamus. I'd never seen any one's belly swell up so big.

Well, one fateful day Tina stepped out of their mobile home and fell for the ten millionth time over a large boulder that protruded out of the ground just about a foot from the bottom step of their trailer. That boulder had been there forever, and why Albert and his clan pulled the trailer into that exact spot we will never know. It was a death defying obstacle for anyone trying to enter or leave their home.

So on that day, Tina had fallen while carrying a large load of clean laundry out to be hung on the line. Since it had rained the night before the bolder was exceptionally slick. She came up out of the mud kicking and spitting and told Al he had to either move the trailer , move the bolder or she was moving out!

Now, in case you don't know this, it's never wise to challenge a guy from the back woods. He'll think on it a bit and come up with what he thinks is the simplest solution. I'm not saying Al is lazy, I'm just saying that if there is a difficult, albeit right way, of doing something and a seemingly simpler way of doing something ... albeit totally insane, he'll choose the later.

After a 12 pack of beer and a meeting with all the men folk in the clan, an idea was hatched to dig a hole about a foot deep on the back side of the rock and plant a small load of dynamite to dislodge the menace.

We didn't learn of the plan until the men came into the store for two more 12 packs of beer. We tried desperately to talk them out of it, but they wouldn't hear of it. On the up side, were pleased to learn that they at least had the common sense to evacuate the women and children from the immediate area... maybe they sent them away just to shut them up. Either way, it was good.

Several hours passed and the afternoon began to wane into a peaceful spring dusk. Since hours had passed and we hadn't heard any blasting, we assumed the clan had reconsidered the idea of blowing the bolder out of the ground. We joked that perhaps they had thankfully passed out from the beer and were sleeping in heaps atop the bolder.

Suddenly we heard a small explosion. It wasn't big enough to concern us, so my husband and I looked at each other, with raised eyebrows and gave each other a knowing nod that said "Ahh, "The boys" went ahead and blew the rock after all."

I should mention that our store was not only the hub of the town in an ascetic way, it also housed the local 911 emergency switchboard. Our job was to sell merchandise, sooth heartbreaks, burp crying babies, bandage skinned knees, and answer the 911 calls for the town. We were also part of the volunteer fire department, volunteer sheriffs team, and the volunteer search and rescue...oh, and the volunteer animal control.

After the little blast, we turned our attention to the switch board. To our relief it didn't light up. Apparently, and surprisingly, all had gone well.

Before long, night was trying to settle on the sleepy hills of our town. One by one the lights in houses came on. People lit their wood stoves and the crisp night air filled with the delightful scents of dozens of dinners cooking.

After a long day it was time for my husband, Bruce, and I to close the store. I gave a yawn, and reached up to pull down the large antique canvas shades that had covered the front windows of the store for the past 60 years. Just as the first one reached the bottom of the window sill, I heard Bruce say something from further back in the store. I don't quite recall exactly what it was, but I think it had something to do with being thankful "The boys" hadn't blown up the whole town.

The next thing I remember, I was sprawled on the hardwood floor with the front curtains draped over me . Through my ringing ears, I heard the sound of glass breaking, wood shattering and merchandise crashing to the floor throughout the store.

The 911 phone lines on the switchboard somewhere in the debris above me began to shrill with multiple calls coming in. Someone in town (besides us?) needed help. I fought my way out from under the curtains, wood splinters, glass shards and something slimy and gooey that I prayed was canned peaches and not my brains seeping out.

I screamed for Bruce and prayed he was alright. When I finally heard him mumble a response, my heart beat steadied a bit.

When at last was able to free myself from the rest of the rubble and pull myself to my feet I saw Bruce walking zombie like down the dry goods isle covered in what looked like the ingredients for an amazingly large cake. Flour, sugar and maybe even salt...who could tell?

I turned my attention to the 911 switchboard. Not a single line was free. I took the call from Al and Tina's line first, fearing the worst.

I was relieved to hear Tina drawl "hallo ? hallo? " on the other end of the line. All I could say was "Damn it Tina what happened? Do you need an ambulance?" Is everyone ok? The fire department will be up soon! What happened?"

My heart thumped as she sobbed and quietly said "Well The boys blew up that widower making hell rock and I guess they did a fine job of it." Then she wailed "But we ain't got no house no more! Most of it is over at Daddy's place in pieces." ("Daddy" was Al's father who lived about the equivalent of a city block away from them.)

The door of the store was blocked so Bruce and I crawled though the shattered front window and rushed to the scene of the "accident." Once there we surveyed the situation and took reports. It seems that the first try didn't even budge the massive bolder so "The boys" deiced to give it the "full payload" They grinned sheepishly and said "It were the rock or us by then ya know."

The next morning when the dust had settle the town was amazed to see the full extent of damage caused by the "full payload" discharged by "The boys." Not only had it blown the trailer to shreds, it demolished 3 pickup trucks, leveled a wood shed across the street, deafened a stray dog, singed a cat's tail, blew out more than half of the windows in the town, and left a crater large enough to bury 2 full grown elephants in. Ironically, the bolder still sat quietly and defiantly in place.