Val Is a Victim of the Good-Ol'-Boy Network

Of course! ONE DAY after I declared a downtick of local ne'er-do-welling in my comments, I was slapped in the face by ne'er-do-wells in the very act of never doing well! In fact, a mere 16 hours had lapsed. It was almost as if Even Steven was all-knowing, and tipped off the ne'er-do-wells as soon as I left for town.

When I returned around 3:45 on Saturday afternoon, I crested the hill in front of our newest 10 acres, next to the BARn field, and saw two vehicles parked in our front yard! Not the front yard proper, next to the house. But the front yard/field by the end of the driveway, next to the sinkhole closest to the gravel road.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN!!!

You don't want to come home and surprise strangers in your yard/field! It was a minivan the color of metallic sea-mist green/gray/blue. Not quite describable. It was about three car-lengths into the field, next to the trees that surround the sinkhole. In front of the minivan was a Gator-type ORV, dark green or black, a four-seater, with an orange triangle on the back warning traffic to look out for it, and it was HOOKED TO A TRAILER like Hick's car-hauling trailer!

Seriously! What business could these two vehicles possibly have on my property? 

As I turned T-Hoe in the driveway, I slowed. The minivan driver hopped in and started his vehicle. The driver of the Gator-thing turned to look at me. A look that said, "WHAT?" As if he belonged there! Not a challenging, smart-@$$ look. Just one that implied I was out of place for staring.

 

It crossed my mind to steer over there and ask them WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN ARE YOU DOING ON MY PROPERTY?

Then my mind reminded me that I am an old lady with stove-up knees, not good at running, not good at fighting, and not packing heat. I doubt my sharp tongue would be protection enough in a rumble.

I stopped T-Hoe midway down the driveway. I called Hick, who is slow to answer.

"Why are two men parked beside our sinkhole?"

You know, because Hick has some questionable acquaintances, and more than once, more that twice, he's had oddballs out here to help him with something, or has given them permission to borrow the tractor or pick up equipment while he's not home.

"I don't know what two men are doing by our sinkhole! How would I know? I'm in town, at my buddy's auction."

"Well. Sometimes you let people come out here to get something, and you don't tell me."

"No. I didn't tell nobody they could come out. What are they doing?"

"I don't know! One has a trailer like yours hooked up to his Gator-thing, and it's empty! So I hope he didn't steal your trailer. OR I hope he's not throwing stuff down our sinkhole!"

"I'm on my way. Leaving now."

"Well, they just left when I stopped to look at them. I couldn't see where they went while I was talking. They were behind me. Now they're both gone. It was a green/silver/blue minivan, and a dark colored 4-door Gator-thing with an orange triangle, hooked to a trailer. The driver was wearing a red plaid shirt, and had a long gray beard, like Santa Claus. He was a little chubby. I'm going to drive around to see if I see those vehicles anywhere out the back entrance."

I did, and I did not. No vehicles like that were parked or in motion on the back two-mile stretch of gravel road. I figured if they left by the mailbox way, Hick would encounter them on his way home. OR they may have gone in deeper in the compound, up the gravel road past our house, and Hick could drive around on his Gator and look for them.

When I got back home, Hick was parked in SilverRedO up by the sinkhole. He started down the driveway as I was walking from garage to porch. THEN he disappeared. The Pony heard my tale, and went out on the porch to look for Hick. He saw SilverRedO over at the BARn, then Hick get in and start toward the house. About 5 minutes later, he came in the kitchen door.

"What's going on? Did they dump something in our sinkhole? Did you see them along the road?"

"I'm coming in to tell you. Settle down."

"I want to know why two strangers were parked in our yard walking around our sinkhole. Do you know anybody out here that looks like that?"

"I went to look in the sinkhole, and didn't see anything. I saw their tracks. When I was coming back from the BARn, Dog-Groomer's Husband called me. He said he had some broken-up concrete, and he put it down our sinkhole--"

"WHAT? How is that something people would think is OKAY? I don't want somebody's trash going down our sinkhole! It will get in the groundwater! I don't want YOU throwing OUR trash down the sinkhole! He only called you because I caught him doing it! And he wanted to let you know before I TOLD ON HIM! Did you ever give him permission to throw stuff down our sinkhole?"

"No." 

"Did he ask if he could do it?"

"No. That kind of bothers me. But he DID say he did it, and that he had Jimbo helping him. So that's the van you saw."

"Who's Jimbo?"

"The kid who lives up at the log house."

"THE ONE WHERE THE HEADLESS BODY WAS FOUND IN THE SEPTIC TANK?"

"Yeah. But he wasn't living there then."

"See? They could have thrown ANYTHING down our sinkhole, and just TOLD you it was concrete! A headless body... a HEAD... evidence of some crime... I don't want people thinking it's okay to throw stuff down our sinkhole!"

"Oh, Val. He just put concrete in there."

So now I'M the hysterical woman who doesn't understand that sometimes, guys just need to drive onto someone else's property, and unload a trailer full of SOMETHING, to dispose of down their sinkhole, which is perfectly fine if you call and tell the property-owner after the fact.

What is YOUR verdict, O Great Internet Jury? Am I overreacting?