Weirdo Convention at the Corner of Mailbox Row and Gravel Avenue

Lest you think Val is too paranoid about uninvited, unknown people coming up her 1/10 mile driveway...let the record show that the woods are crawling with weirdos out here in Backroads.

On Tuesday afternoon, The Pony and I came up over the long hill that leads down to Mailbox Row by the creek. There sat a red SUV. Uh huh. IN THE ROAD. Just over the hill. Parked right there in the right lane of the county blacktop road! Not talking to a car going the other way. Not looking for something in the ditch. Just parked. As if in a parking lot. In the road. The road traveled by traffic both directions.

This is much different from Val parking in the road, of course! Val parks at the bottom of the hill. With her signal on. Not parked like she's leaving her vehicle at an airport during a month-long vacation.

WAIT A MINUTE! There was a lady in that red SUV! Sitting behind the wheel. Texting. What in tarnation? She could have easily traveled to the bottom of the hill and pulled trespassingly onto our gravel road beside the creek. To text to her heart's content. Oh, wait. There's no reception down there. How inhospitable of us. We need to look into a tower to make freeloading more convenient for the weirdos.

But WAIT!

That's not the end of it. On Tuesday evening, we had TWO weirdos for the price of one!

"Pony! There's a lady in that red car. I can't look while I go around on the wrong side of the road! What's she doing?"

"Um. Looks like she's texting."

"Well, that's a fine place to be doing it, right where people come up over that hill and can ram into--WHAT IS THAT MAN DOING?"

"Looks like he's walking in the creek."

"Look what he's wearing! Hip-waders up to his armpits! And that water barely reaches his ankles! What's in his hand?"

"I can't tell. A phone, maybe? A piece of paper?"

"He's probably texting that woman in the parked car--"

"I don't think so. Here she comes. I was looking to see if I could open the door to get out for the mail, and I saw her coming at me."

"There she goes. Look at HIS car. It's like Aunt Gambler used to have. A giant Chrysler. Like the highway patrol. An old people's car."

"Well, he IS old."

"Why would he be out here in those armpit hip-waders in THAT kind of car? What's he doing in the creek? He's walking around looking at his feet."

"Looking for a good place to hide the body?"

"I give up. There are way too many weirdos out here."

At least neither of them was peeing or dumping limbs. That I know of.