Peevish Pen

Ruminations on reading, writing, rural living, retirement, aging—and sometimes cats. And maybe a border collie or other critters.

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Location: Rural Virginia, United States

I'm an elderly retired teacher who writes. Among my books are Ferradiddledumday (Appalachian version of the Rumpelstiltskin story), Stuck (middle grade paranormal novel), Patches on the Same Quilt (novel set in Franklin County, VA), Them That Go (an Appalachian novel), and several Kindle ebooks.

Monday, August 27, 2007

They're Baaaaack!

The downside of rural living:

Harassment by Rednecks season has officially started. This evening, a couple of them appeared over at the old depot (their "hunt club") across the road from my driveway to start their pre-dove season decorating. Mr. Redneck's big brother (hereafter called BB for short) sat up the chairs directly across from my driveway and added a piece of corrugated pipe. (According to my husband who watched, only two vehicles almost hit BB as he stood in the road and arranged chairs and the pipe to his satisfaction.) Mr. Redneck himself trimmed back some trees and left some of the trimmings in the road on the other side of the old depot.

Click to enlarge.

After they were gone, I decided to drive down the road to the farm and get the mail. At the end of the driveway, I stopped to take a picture. It's a bit blurry—I'm taking it through my truck's dirty windshield. The pipe to the right of the four chairs looks like a tree trunk. I took the picture a little after eight.

Not long after I'd snapped a picture, JP's truck appeared with Mr. RN and kid in the back (yeah, it's against the law in Virginia to drive around with a minor in the back of an open pick-up, but nobody ever accused this group of being law-abiding) and someone in the passenger seat. A full load.

When they saw me sitting in my truck, JP drove very slowly in front of my driveway. He blocked me in momentarily; I couldn't escape unless I backed up. I don't back down; I didn't back up.

"Hey, Baby, let us take a picture of you!" one of them (JP, I think) hollered. As they pulled away, another remarked upon the size of my derriere (which, I grant you, is indeed ample).

The picture I snapped of them is blurry, so I didn't post it. However, it identifies JP's truck pretty well.

I figured I'd better call the cops, so I did and asked if someone could come by on patrol. Then I went down to the farm to get the mail from the farm box and to check on things. I thought I'd get home before dark. Turns out, I didn't.

I got the newspaper, drove the driveway circle, and drove around our hay field across the road. I wanted to go along the property line down to the creek, but I didn't want to get trapped down there. I came back to the cottage and drove the circle again.

Before I'd finished the circle, JP's truck came from the road where I would have been if I'd gone to the bottom of the property line. I stayed put in the driveway—about 50 feet back from the road. The truck stopped. I snapped some pictures. Mr. Redneck got out of the back of the pick-up and stood in the road. I think he took a picture with his phone, but it was getting dark and I was busy taking pictures myself and wondering if I were going to be gunned down or something. Then he got back in the truck.


This is one of the clearer pictures. With the night vision setting, it takes a while to snap a picture. Since the truck was at a standstill here, this shot isn't too bad.

After they pulled away, I called the cops again. Luckily, one was close by and gave me an escort home in the dark. He took the report and promised extra patrols in the area.

Now, this encounter is one in a series of strange happenings. On Friday evening, John and I were turning into the Penhook dumpster area when Mr. RN happened to be coming out. He mouthed a four-syllable word at us as he passed by. Since the letters m and f are easy to lip read, we pretty much knew what he said.

A little after 7 on Saturday evening, we heard a faint knock on the back door—so faint, if it hadn't been for the stampeding alarm cats, we wouldn't have been sure it was a real knock. John went to answer. When I got there, I saw a long white limo in the driveway and a kid (brown crew cut, average height) in a tux. John was describing how to get to Mr. RN's house, where the limo was allegedly going.

The kid looked a little surprised to see me and then asked where a gas station was—he said he had to get gas before he made his pick-up. Then he left. Gee, you'd think that a limo driver would know to tank up before venturing into rural America, wouldn't you?

The odd thing is that the limo, which had dark windows so we couldn't see inside, was backed up close to our garage opening. Now, when most folks visit, they pull straight in and we show them where to back up as they leave. Did the limo driver want to make a fast getaway since he'd already turned around before he knocked?

Another odd thing: to get to our road, no matter which direction he'd come from, he had to pass a gas station two miles back. Why would he ask where one was?

After the limo pulled out and headed for Union Hall, we went to feed and water the critters. We figured we'd see the limo drive by when it returned. We must have been at the barn for a good 45 minutes. Then we did some yard chores. We never saw the limo again.

Anyhow, strange things are happening. If I go a week without posting on this blog, y'all come looking for me. OK?

Otherwise, Happy Harassment by Rednecks Season! Too bad Hallmark doesn't make a card. . . .

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1 Comments:

Blogger Amy said...

Becky you be careful. That is odd!

4:57 PM  

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