On dynamite and peace
When I was a youngster in the mid-1950s, we lived on a small farm that had a high rocky hill behind our house and pasture field. A mining company asked if they could drill some holes and then blow the rock up with dynamite to see if there were valuable metals down there. The day of the blast, they told my father to board up the windows of the house on the blast side in case of wayward flying rocks.