My Current Dysartsville News:
The rain had stopped, and I thought my long drive to Dysartsville would be easy compared with my brutal day at the bridge tables in Hickory. It was six o’clock December dark.
It’s been said that most accidents happen close to home, but I was not prepared for an attack by a confused young doe. My headlights didn’t even pick her up until she stuck her head into the side of my Toyota’s bumper. I drove to the next driveway, about a quarter mile down the rural road lined by acres of woods and fields. I heard the engine clunk before I got out and saw black liquid puddling around the front tire. I wasn’t going anywhere soon, and I was thankful I knew the guy who lived in the farmhouse way down that gravel road.
First I called my husband to come to my rescue. My car door was open, my lights off, but there was a security light nearby. I saw a man approaching, and I got out of the car. I couldn’t see his features because the light was high above and behind him. It looked like he was carrying a rifle.
“Wayne, hello, it’s me.” I shouted out. “It’s Georgia.”
“I’m not Wayne,” said the stranger.
“I go to church with Wayne.” (In North Carolina code, that means “Don’t shoot.”)
Of course, he didn’t intend me harm. It was Wayne’s nephew wondering what crazy motorist was decorating the end of his uncle’s driveway. I suspect there are a lot of fender benders at that sharp turn. Hence the trouble light, aptly named.
My new friend went to get his truck to shine its headlights on my car. He had experience with car motors, having been raised around persnickety farm vehicles, and soon diagnosed my malady. My transmission fluid was outside the car, not inside where it was supposed to be. I wasn’t going anywhere until my ride came. So we chatted about his family who had been in this area for generations. His 99 year old grandmother had recently died, and I remembered that Wayne had told me about this sister named Georgia. When there are ten children in one family, the ages vary greatly, and a son can be the same age as his uncle. I need a computer to figure it all out.
The one thing I did understand was that nephew’s wife had told him specifically: “Do not kill a deer this weekend.” He planned to call the game warden to get the deer tagged, and oh yeah, he was going to keep it. Fine with me. But now he was in trouble because of an important event coming up, while he was dressing a deer. And his wife is probably mad at me, and I don’t even know her. Yet.
On our way to church this morning, a four point buck veered away from the road, and a doe ran in front of our truck. They will never know how lucky they were that I wasn’t driving. I will be safely at home for awhile.