On a sunny day in July of 1994 disaster hit the Anderod family as unpredictably as a bolt of lightning striking on a clear day.
John loaded the rotor tiller in the bed of his 1989 red Chevy pick-up as his young son David watched from the bedroom window.
John’s wife, Susan, was beginning her household chores.
Susan’s mother, Alice, was finishing a cup of coffee before heading out to the garden. The old-fashioned hoe would have to suffice to cut down the weeds that grew thick while the rotor tiller was not working.
As John finished loading the tiller, he glanced at the garden rows covered in weeds, wishing he’d taken the rotor tiller to the shop sooner. Pulling onto the road and heading toward his neighbor’s home, John admired the farmer’s field of corn that lay between the two properties. The plants had grown knee-high by this time in July looking like a troop of little green soldiers standing at attention.
The ride to Paul’s workplace took only seven minutes.
“I’ll pick you up at 4:00 p.m.,” John said.
But John wouldn’t be able to pick up Paul that afternoon. In fact, Paul would have to find another way home.