Woke up this morning in the early hours, before darkness began giving way to the day's first gray light. Turned on the radio to the local college/community station, found two or three 20-somethings marveling at how mild it was outside. Near 60, they said, an unheard of nighttime temperature for this part of the world at this time of the year.
I drifted off at some point, when I dragged myself out from under the covers around eight, the temperature outside had taken a slide down into the '40's and felt like it intended to continue falling. The sky hovered low and gray, a strip of lighter sky visible off toward the horizon, miles away. Looking like early winter, feeling more and more like it with each degree of falling mercury.
Shortly before nine, me moving slowly around the kitchen, I saw a red Ford Explorer come slowly down the road, saw it pull off across from my driveway, watched what looked like a father and son get out, wearing bright red stocking caps. They pulled rifles out from the rear of the vehicle, headed off into the woods, following a path that stretches uphill from the road.
If someone parks at the end of a driveway on a country road and intends to be there a while, the courteous thing to do is go up to the house, let the people living there know what's up, what you're going to be doing. Didn't happen. On impulse, I picked up the phone, called the owners of the land across the road, told them the situation, asked what the protocol was. They let people hunt on their land -- they own the top of the hill, somewhere in the neighborhood of 200 acres -- but ask that they come speak to them first, park not far from their house, walk into the woods from there.
I mulled all this over as I slowly pulled together caffeine and morning nosh, decided to write a note, leave it on the Ford's windshield. A simple note, not harsh, not unpleasant, but suggesting that the courtesy of taking a moment to say hello would be appreciated in a case like this.
Went back inside, stood at the living room window, watched wild turkeys appear from up the hill, disappearing one by one into the brush below the house. Then returned to the kitchen, got the day underway.
An hour or so later, I noticed the vehicle moving slowly along the road, heading back the way it had come. I walked outside, strolled down the driveway, saw the Explorer turn around up the road and head slowly back toward me. Slowly, coming to a gradual halt in the middle of the road by the end of my drive. A boy sitting in the passenger seat stared out at me, the driver's door opened and closed, someone got out.
"You the person who messed with my truck?" I heard, saw a late-30's male come around the rear of the vehicle, his manner vaguely threatening. And this is where growing up in a family with violent tendencies has served me pretty decently -- I don't cringe or fade before an aggressive attitude. I'm not looking for physical confrontation, but I'm also not inclined to give way if I've done nothing to provoke ugliness.
"Yeah," I said, "I left the note on your windshield." Not unfriendly, but also not backing off. He asked if I owned the land he'd been on, I replied it belonged to so and so, he said he'd spoken to them, I said I had as well. He said something else about not liking his vehicle being messed with, I didn't respond, he said he'd hunted around here for years but had never parked at this spot before, that led to some talk about protocol when parking an unfamiliar vehicle at the end of a country driveway. He reacted by saying it looked like no one lived here -- I looked around, saw a house and land clearly lived in and taken care of, decided to let his comment go, didn't point out that he hadn't bothered to investigate by coming to the door. He asked how long I'd lived here, responded to my answer -- me stating a span of ownership apparently longer than he'd expected -- with a surprised, "Holy crap!" Maybe having assumed I'd be a newcomer, that if I'd had the place for a while he would have known me.
Through it all I simply stood my ground in friendly fashion, giving him every opportunity to loosen up, drop the defensiveness. Which he slowly began to do, finally saying his name, me saying mine, offering my hand. He responded, looking as if the idea of not responding had flitted through his head before he extended his arm, and we shook.
When he finally got back in the truck, he hadn't loosened up to the point of actual friendliness, but he'd come some way. I debated inviting him to stop in for coffee any time he passed through, concluded he didn't look like an individual who'd have any interest in espresso, wished him a great day instead. I waved to the boy in the passenger's seat, the kid stared back, expression not exactly warm. The vehicle slowly moved off down the hill.
We're interesting critters, we humans.
A Sunday morning in the country. During hunting season.
España, te echo de menos
rws 1:34 PM [+]
Comments:
Wise to have the photographic evidence of the vehicle, "just in case".
Up here in Maine, if there are no signs posted, it seems the majority feel they can do whatever they want. When I lived in Vermont (30 years ago) it was customary to ONLY hunt with express written permission. Easy enough to get when out scouting in September...
Good luck to you. I hope you have better luck making it back to Spain than I am having getting on to the road to Louisiana. Freaking cold here already.
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Up here in Maine, if there are no signs posted, it seems the majority feel they can do whatever they want. When I lived in Vermont (30 years ago) it was customary to ONLY hunt with express written permission. Easy enough to get when out scouting in September...
Good luck to you. I hope you have better luck making it back to Spain than I am having getting on to the road to Louisiana. Freaking cold here already.
