The lightning strike next to the Fraser River, in Pitt Meadows, inspired some recollections- and even brought up an involuntary chuckle.

That's not to suggest that I do not feel empathy for folks at Bonson Landing - especially the family that brushed directly with disaster - who undoubtedly had the wits scared out of them.

Things like lightning settling in next to you, even if only for a short moment, aren't actually funny- at least, not right away.

This week - maybe this year - there's a family at Bonson Landing that will be too busy catching their collective breaths and counting their lucky stars to laugh the incident off.

But give it time.

Had there been serious injuries - or worse - nobody would find any humour in the affair, ever. Not years later.

But as it is, that family will eventually find that they will be able to feast for years on the story they can tell about the lightning bolt that started fires in their bedroom - while they watched!

It seems that the kind of wild electric storm that hit late last week used to be much more common in the Fraser Valley. Old-time dairy farmers from Chilliwack to Vancouver nearly all have stories about cows that were hit by lightning.

A couple such stories involve cows standing near barbed-wire fences all getting zapped together, some surviving- most not.

A more horrifying story is of a string of cows meeting their demise while munching quietly in a milking parlour, attached to the milking machine.

I recall one old-timer telling me of a "gaggle" of cows huddled under a tree for protection during a particularly ferocious electrical weather display. The tree got hit, and every last cow under it was killed.

The moral of the story was, don't stand under a tree in an open field during an electrical storm.

These aren't funny stories- just interesting.

Here's one of my favourite funny lightning storm stories:

Donna and I were up at our cabin by the lake in the Interior when an electrical storm started rumbling off in the distance.

It was heading our way and would approach us across the lake, as they normally do in that neck of the woods.

As Donna and I headed indoors for safety, we were astounded that the fishermen (not "fishers"- I believe that women aren't as likely to fish because they are too smart to abuse themselves in that way) who had been putt-putting across the lake in their aluminum boat had not yet so much as pulled in their rods.

The lightning strikes started to scorch the top of the mountain across from us.

And the fishermen remained oblivious, their fishing rods poking high into the atmosphere, as though seeking to connect the grey flashing clouds above to their strategically positioned aluminum - yes, aluminum, they didn't even have the tiny bit of protection that a fibreglass hull might conceivably offer - boat.

Now the edge of the lightning storm above was encroaching on the edge of the lake.

We watched, aghast, as the fishermen continued to blissfully poke their rods at the air.

And then it happened: there was an incredibly bright flash followed by an almost simultaneous Bang! and then a roar- and a huge tree at the water's edge toppled- almost hitting the fishermen and their boat.

The rods came down, the boat's motor roared, and the fishermen were soon out of sight.

Not quite as blissful, we suspected, but somewhat wiser, we hoped.