Apparently, there are lots of folks who think that where I live is way out in the country . . . it really isn’t. I’m 17 minutes from a mall, and equally close to a Wal-Mart . . . in my mind, that doesn’t really qualify. In a little less than a week, though, city folks, of the sort who think this is way out in the country dumped two vehicles. The first was a small trailer, that ended up in the middle of the road. I think the dumpee meant for it to roll down the very steep hill and off the edge, but the trailer got caught up on its stabilizing wheel, and stopped in the middle of the road, which is what my mother said about it when she told me, “There’s a trailer in the middle of the road.”
Since it was a little trailer, I pulled it off the side of the road into the very shallow ditch, and called the county. The cops showed up the next night, and called it in to be towed, as it turned out to be stolen. I suspect it was either a landscaping trailer or a 4wheeler trailer, and what was really being stolen was the equipment that was on it.
Not a week later, a car ended up off the same hill.
What city folk don’t understand about living way out in the country is that disturbances in the landscape are our landmarks. This is why your country friends give weird directions that never include street names, but often include fields of cows. We notice when cars go off the edges of cliffs. We notice when trees fall. We notice disturbances in the side of the road that signal that a car went off. We don’t have gas stations and billboards and Wal-Marts all screaming for our attention on our little windy back roads, so change is what we see.
We also don’t just ignore cars off the sides of the cliff. We crawl down the damn cliff and make sure the city folk aren’t still in the car, slowly bleeding to death. Because, some day, the car off the side is going to be us.
And that’s exactly what we did in this case: sent Farmergirl scrambling down the precipitous hillside to make sure the car was empty.
It was. But there were also some strange things about the case:
1) There were no other footprints in the soft dirt of the hillside except Farmergirl’s.
2) There was a large rock in the driver’s wheel well.
3) The window was down (and it had rained, and rain was in the forecast).
We took pictures of the car, and the registration, and the VIN, and called the insurance company. They asked if they could give the owner our info . . . we declined.
We suspect that it was the owner who fell behind on the payments, and sent the car over the edge.
But listen up, city folks: we live out here, and we pay a LOT more attention to change . . . and we’re neighborly, so we’re not going to just leave your stupid car down the hill, alone, with you potentially in it. We’re going to climb down, we’re going to check it out, and we’re going to call your stupid insurance company, the county, and the cops.
If you want to lose your car, park it on a suburban street, or in longterm parking at the airport, or in the mall parking lot– or Wal-Mart’s parking lot–these are places where cars aren’t out of place.
Don’t dump it in the forest.