I don't know why some people claim that country living is quiet and boring. Take, for example, the other night. My friend and neighbor, J, and I were taking our regular evening walk that passes the dam at the north end of the pond. Water crashes over and pools in the rocks below before hurrying on its way downstream. We often stop to lean on the bridge railing to watch the great blue heron fish for its evening meal. It's noisy there so we stop on the edge of the one way bridge and check both ways for oncoming traffic before crossing, which is why we saw a large van approach the bridge and stop. The driver leaned out and pointed to the neighbor's lawn across the street where a large black mama bear was galloping, a wobbly black cub doing its best to keep up. They weren't more than 50 or so feet from where we stood.
"You know, they were right behind you," said the driver, "until I sort of nudged them off the road onto the lawn there."
Insert bug-eyed emoji here. J and I waited until the bears had disappeared into the woods before continuing on. Home again, we sat at my patio table to discuss the day when J looked out across the lawn and remarked, "Brian (her son) must have put his chickens in early."
"No," I corrected her. "He never let them out this morning. The door to the outside pen is gone."
"Gone?" she said. "Where is it?"
"I don't know," I remarked carelessly. "It's not my door."
She gave me a funny look, wondering why I was not as curious as she about where the door actually was, and when she left for home, went out past the chicken pen to see what had become of it. I heard her hoot. She came back a moment later, almost doubled over, gasping out that the door was not gone, as I had assumed, but merely pushed back against the wire fencing. The fact that I had not seen it nor been curious as to its whereabouts was the cause of great hilarity. I had to laugh with her, wondering out loud what else in my life I missed when it was right there in front of me had I bothered to be curious.
Not ten minutes later, while I was weeding the beets in the waning light, I heard my name being called across the yard. I looked about but could not see J anywhere. Finally she shouted, "I'm locked in the hen house! I need rescuing!"
It was my turn for hysterics. I chuckled and chortled as I hot-stepped it across her backyard to the hen house. Sure enough, the door with its simple hook and loop mechanism, was firmly latched.
"How did you do that?" I queried, as I lifted the latch and set her free. She looked chagrined.
"Well," she admitted, "I forgot to turn the hook aside as I usually do and when the door slammed behind me, I heard it fall." She was looking at the ground as she said this. She looked up and confessed, "It happened a couple of weeks ago, too, but I managed to get out the door at the other end of the house. But I've since locked that one."
"From the outside," she added.
On our way back to her house we wondered aloud how long she might have had to stay in the hen house had I not been outside and heard her hollering. We agreed it would be a good idea to check on each other daily. "And now," she said, "I'm going to bed before anything else can happen."
I haven't heard form her yet this morning. Excuse me while I go check.
