Oh, dear. Excuse my fake Britishness. It creeps out sometimes when I am in a state of shock. Like this afternoon, for instance. The Pony and I had trouble crossing a medium thoroughfare because a never-ending cordon of cars cruised past. It was as if Tweety's grandma was on a Sunday drive, holding back traffic. Auto after auto passed by, at slower speeds that normal. A helicopter flitted past, from east to west. It was not THIS helicopter.
No, THAT helicopter was of average proportions, such as many a helicopter seen over these parts in the past. A sightseeing voyage, perhaps. Or a news copter.
The bloated bird shown above came out of the east. Tweety's grandma's line of traffic was behind us, to the west. Nothing is to the east. Empty farmland populated by cows. The Mississippi River a county over. No major hubs of population. This gray chopper circled once and began its descent. Quite creepy. I knew it was setting down on the helipad of the local emergency facility. The other helicopters I've seen land there are petite, dainty things. White and red and blue.
The chopper in The Pony's hastily-snapped phone pic appears to belong to ARCH Air Medical Services. That's the closest thing I could find to compare to its bulbous shape and gray coloring. Unusual in this neck of Backroads. That ER is an ER in name only. It's not a trauma center. Has no beds. They greet and treat and send you to a real hospital. That's what they did with my gallstones and The Pony's broken elbow. Sure, they stitched up Genius's eyebrow, and soaked my mom's FAT RED PINKY FINGER in a solution prior to bandaging and referring her to an osteopath who wanted to lop it off.
I can't imagine anybody in need of an air ambulance going there, when fifteen minutes north or south could take them to a trauma center. Two totally different helicopters spotted within ten minutes. Not an everyday occurrence in Backroads.
Every picture tells a story. I'm just not clear on this one's plot.
Maybe Big Foot is afoot above. Got hit by all that traffic while crossing the road, hurried to the nearest ER and it took a huge helicopter to haul him off to a real hospital.
ReplyDeleteMaybe all those cars were part of a "Val the victorian" guided tour, and the helicopter was someone in desperate need of gas station chicken?
ReplyDeleteYou're right. Every picture tells a story, don't it?
A head scratcher. Maybe it was a celebrity, hiding out and .....
ReplyDeleteSpeaking of stories, please tell us the fate of Mom's FAT RED PINKY FINGER!!! That was quite a shocking little tidbit to waggle so briefly at us. I hope she still has it, and not in a jar or a cardboard box.
ReplyDeleteLeenie,
ReplyDeleteBigfoot needs to demand his money back from those scamming possums who sold him classes in road-crossing.
*******
Sioux,
Now THERE'S a story that needs tellin'! The Val Thevictorian Reality Tour. Free muffin stump with every ticket.
Yep, every picture tells a story. But it's all over now.
*******
Kathy,
Just like a celebrity, hiding out by drawing attention.
*******
Tammy,
Mom's FAT RED PINKY FINGER is relegated to the Island of Misfit Stories until Wednesday night. A FAT RED PINKY FINGER story is not something one can simply whip out of one's hat. It must be prepped. Like a FAT RED PINKY FINGER for surgery.