Before it got cold, after work I would take the puppy out for a walk. There's a new scar on the hillside just north of us. Soon, houses will blanket the street and families will begin memories of their own in the new homes and new neighborhoods.
On the ridge, where the road levels out, a power line tower stands like a sentinel overseeing all who venture up the hill. The other night I timed it perfectly to capture the setting sun behind the tower and a tree at its base. To everyone driving up or walking up or riding up the hill, it's just a tower of metal that allows electricity to flow along the lines, electricity running to power homes, to power computers, to charge electric cars, to provide light, and perhaps quite literally, life itself to those down the line.
But to me, the tower will always remind me of something else.
Something terrible. Something horrible.
It's where I saw a boy die.
There's a lot I remember about that day. I remember my cousins were in town and we were up in our orchard east of the house my father was building pulling weeds. Back in 1971 we had only been in the house less than a year and we had already planted an orchard full of fruit trees. There might have been a vegetable garden between the trees, too. That detail is a little fuzzy.
It was summer, so it was probably hot. And I'm sure I would have rather been doing anything else other than weeding on the side of a mountain. But we were out there.
I was five years old.
We heard it first, a sizzle, a buzz, the sound of electricity. We all stopped and looked from where the sound came. It came from the tower. I saw a bright light focused in a single spot.
Then I saw the body fall.
We stopped working and hiked toward the tower. Halfway up the hill we were met by some kids, teenagers. They stopped us. It wasn't me who talked to them, but the adults, my mom, older cousins. They told us there had been an accident and there was nothing we could do to help. We found out later the boy who died was Angus Richins.
He had eight years old months before.
We knew him--he was my brother's age. The town was so much smaller then. Angus had a brother my age and it rocked the small town, and especially us kids.
Standing on the ridge, watching the sun set behind the tower, I remembered that warm June day in 1971 and what happened on that very spot. It's been decades, but I still remember. And I doubt anyone moving in will ever know that a curious child who liked to climb things was electrocuted and fell from the tower they'll see everyday. For everyone else, it'll be just a tower. For me, it's a memorial.
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