As I sit alone in here, waiting for the furnace repairman, I’ll count my blessings—-
a) I have a furnace to be repaired
b) the weather has been mild, so I didn’t mind them canceling on Monday to go check for gas leaks amongst the utter destruction in Washington, Illinois, site of an F-4 tornado that was on the ground for a reported 46 miles. In fact, I’d understand if they don’t make it today.
c) I’ve got some free time to spend. I planned to go back to square one this week by re-reading both The Thrill of the Chase and Too Far To Walk. Friday might be a good choice to stay inside. It’s shotgun opener for deer season, and sometimes I just can’t put on enough blaze orange to make me feel safe.
I’ve been brave. I once hiked through deep snow to confront a trespassing fox hunter. Decked out in white-camo with a van to match, he asked whose land it was. “Oh, yeah, it’s okay, my buddy knows him.”
Well, I knew ‘him’ better as he was my Dad, and no way had he given these yahoos permission. Just then his buddy radioed that he found the fox along the back fence, gut shot. Mr Hot Shot shrugged and headed back to join his partner.
I had to go pick up kids, and seriously considered letting the air out of at least 2 of the proud van’s tires as I drove by on the gravel road. Shades of a Fenn story, no?
More recently, I had a chat with a guy who’d put his deer stand on our side of the tree. I hesitate to say hunter as it besmirches the breed. He was up there with his cross-bow and cold beer.
I asked if it wasn’t hard on his neck?
Huh? he asked.
“Trying to aim behind the tree like that.”
On another encounter, one of his retorts to my husband was, “You’re not from around here.”
No, we weren’t. But what happened to asking permission, or maybe introducing yourself as a neighbor before getting presumptuous?
I’d like to think that where I’m from things were different, but I’m starting to think that’s not only a different geography, but a different era.
So confronting the armed, drunk, and/or dangerous, maybe wasn’t me being especially wise. In the future, I’d probably call in the professionals. Now they are brave. More conservation/DNR officers are killed than policemen.
Also, bear spray seems to have its limits. Like 3-5 seconds worth.
(Man. That went south fast. Sorry.)
Back to counting my blessings….
d) the hens are delivering about 6 eggs a day. Golden nuggets. (The adorable duck ?? won’t find out until about April if it’s a he or a she.)
e) there’s still a chance a could win another of Forrest Fenn’s books over on Dal’s blog…..
Yep. Things are just ducky.