A number of years back, the 1986 movie “Stand By Me”, made popular the sport mailbox baseball, where kids drive around in a convertible taking out mailboxes with a baseball bat. So one of dad’s neighbors, tired of repairing his designer mailbox, who was an executive for the power company, and who lived a mile or so up the road, had the brilliant idea of installing a gigawatt lamp across the street facing my parents home. So started the great Hamel Minnesota lighting feud.
I remember one thanksgiving when family and friends were gathered at my parent’s house. We were all seated at the candle lit dining room table. Dad was in his fox hunting coat, sitting at the head, looking out over the grand expanse of his front yard. The wine had been flowing. The sun had just set. The turkey carcass was making it’s last rounds and was nearly bones. And mom was feeding a hound, Elvis, scraps under the table. From the road, over a football field away, there was flickering light that got brighter. Looking at dad you could see shadows forming from the window panes across him and the wall behind.
He was up in a flash, stopping only briefly at the coat closet. From the window we could see his silhouette as he trotted down the driveway into the light. A distant shot rang out, and the light on the wall turned green. More shots and our faces were orange, and then the light fizzled.
Returning to the house, he stowed the shotgun in the closet, smugly sat back down, and resumed dining. Elvis was rolling around on his back under the table as some guests pet him with their stocking feet. Except for the sound of clicking plates and silverware, it was quiet for a few minutes, and then a guest raised his glass and called a toast, “To the night!”