Li^itning 

 Tore 



Throughout history, lightning 

 has been important to cultures the 

 world over. For example, to the 

 Cherokee Indians, lightning was a 

 persona to be reckoned with — fuel 

 for their hopes and fears. 



They believed that the wood of 

 a tree struck by lightning had 

 mysterious properties, especially if 

 the tree continued to live, and their 

 conjurers used it in secret potions, 

 according to James Mooney's 

 History, Myths and Sacred 

 Formulas of the Cherokees. To 

 ensure a good crop, they first 

 soaked their seeds in water 

 containing green bark from 

 lightning-struck trees. But they also 

 thought that tossing lightning-struck 

 wood into a field would cause the 

 crop planted there to wither. 



Ordinary Cherokees would not 

 touch such wood, afraid that cracks 

 would appear on their hands and 

 feet. The medicine man, however, 

 would bum it into coal with which 

 ballplayers painted themselves. 

 They thought the paint would have 

 the effect of striking their opponents 

 with the force of a thunderbolt. 



According to Cherokee 

 legend, the first fire on Earth was 

 created when gods called the 

 Thunders sent down lightning into 

 the bottom of a hollow sycamore 

 tree. A slew of animals, anxious to 

 claim control over fire, remain 

 branded to this day - the raven's 

 feathers were scorched black, the 

 screech owl's eyes became burnt 

 red and the hoot owl got white rings 

 around its eyes from the ashes. 

 — Odile Fredericks □ 



In 1996, the most recent year for 

 which statistics are available, the Tar Heel 

 state was the third-deadliest in the nation 

 for lightning strikes, behind Texas and top- 

 ranked Florida, says George Lemons, a 

 warning coordination meteorologist with 

 the National Weather Service forecast 

 office in Raleigh. 



Some speculate that lightning may 

 have an easier time striking victims in this 

 state of outdoors people. During the prime 

 thunderstorm days of spring and summer, 

 people in North Carolina are on the beach, 

 playing golf, hiking, camping, fishing 

 and tending their 

 gardens, Lemons 

 says. 



"When a 

 thunderstorm 

 visits a neighbor- 

 hood, ... people do 

 not give it the 

 proper respect," he 

 says. "They wait 

 too late to go 

 inside." 



Besides, 

 North Carolina 

 has the ideal 

 ingredients for 

 thunderstorms - 

 warm, moist air in 

 the low levels and 

 cool air aloft, says 

 Rod Gonski, a 

 meteorologist with 

 the National 

 Weather Service 

 in Raleigh. 



"With the 

 nearby ocean, the 

 Gulf Stream and, 



further down the road, the Gulf of Mexico 

 giving us a rich supply of warm, moist air 

 on the low levels, the atmosphere is fertile 

 for producing thunderstorms on a regular 

 basis here," he says. 



Over thousands of years, these storms 

 ignited fires that raced along the sandhills 

 and pine savannas of the coastal plains, 

 where generations of plants have adapted 

 and thrived upon the charred landscape. 



In the wet pocosins, the heat created 

 by fires causes the pond pine to open its 

 cones and drop its seeds. The state tree of 

 North Carolina, the longleaf pine, may well 

 act as a lightning rod, helping start the fires 

 upon which its fife depends in the pine 

 savannas, says James Ward, a curator with 

 the N.C. Botanical Garden in Chapel Hill. 



"They may be where the lightning 

 strike actually occurs," he says. "They 

 produce these long, evergreen needles that, 

 when they dry out, are filled with resin and 

 are very combustible and are important 

 fuel for the fire." 



Fires struck by lightning are part of nature's cycle. 



Lightning fires clear out the under- 

 brush, allowing the longleaf pine seeds to 

 fall on soil and germinate. The plant itself 

 has adapted to frequent fire by remaining 

 short in its early years with a deep taproot 

 and a tip protected by pine needles. After 

 seven or eight years, it begins to grow 

 rapidly, shooting up 2 to 3 feet a year, and 

 lifts its growing tip above the height of 

 most fires. 



12 EARLY SUMMER 1998 



