Hand to God, my father — my rational, mathematically-minded, hard science-loving, fiscally conservative Republican father — swears he saw a UFO.
He was 17, and on the tractor. He'd just made a turn when he looked up and saw something in the sky straight ahead of him. It was large, silver, oval-shaped, and perfectly smooth. It descended silently just behind the woods on the north line of the property. When my dad went back there later to check the area out, he found nothing.
My grandfather didn't believe him. He likely accused him, in his particular parlance, of having been "smokin' dat pots" before seeing the mysterious craft. But my dad is certain it was there.
There are other strange tales from the farm. My aunt tells of seeing unexplained lights in the woods and around the property. And my hardened, work-worn great-grandmother used to take a perverse delight in telling my dad and his sister stories about the ghosts of Native Americans who were killed as they huddled in a hole in a nearby field when the Great Fire of 1881 swept over the land.
Something tells me she embellished a bit.