On July 12th, 1851 in eastern Montana, a farmer named Curtis Spinella was beginning the grueling task of plowing a field on the family ranch. His brother Frank had just returned from a long journey to Carson City for supplies. As the afternoon grew into evening, the clouds thickened and became as dark as coal. A low rumbling sound rippled across the sky and Curtis knew that a storm was imminent. After what seemed to be no more than a few moments he felt the first drops of rain.
Curtis increased the speed at which he was plowing because it was of utmost importance that the field be completed. Frank had just stepped out of the tool shed to give his brother a hand, and he was stopped in his tracks as an enormous bolt