(Despite the fact that one of my co-workers has suggested multiple times that I name my place "Dead Yankee Farm," I don't really have much beef with yankees. I guess I can't since I am part yank myself- born of a yankee father and raised in North Carolina, my psyche resonates with both, I think. So, when I relay the following story, please know that I identify the "visitor" as a yankee only because of the unique and bizarre nasal quality of the cadence of his voice, of which the hearing composed the entirety of my sensory experience of the man.)
Saturday morning I woke up late; the sun had risen. I stepped outside into pleasant early spring air to stretch and do my morning buisness. After a few moments of adjusting my hearing to the lovely background singing of resident songbirds, I realized that I could hear a human voice in the woods. I stood very still and honed in. The voice was singular, moving, male, and distinctly yankee. It was having a one-sided conversation with pauses, so I quickly deduced that it was speaking into a cell phone. The voice traveled close enough that I could almost decipher individual words, but then it turned and faded. I stood there thinking, what will I do. I have not yet had the experience of someone stumbling upon my little clearing in the woods. My place is at the end of the driveway off the driveway, and I know all the surrounding property owners. It was kind of exciting and curious. Where did the yankee come from? What was he doing? To whom was he talking and about what? Would he be back? Was he lost? I decided after some minutes that I would just carry on, and deal with the yankee only if he emerged from the woods and became visible. He did not.
A short while later, I began to hear gun shots coming from the direction that the yankee's voice had disappeared. I listened for a while. The shots were many and small. I reckoned that it was a .22. I thought to myself: is that yankee up there firing a gun now? The shots were reasonably far enough away that they were likely on a more distant neighbor's territory. My mind got carried away with possibilities. I decided to communicate.
First I hollered out "Who's there?" It was fruitless of course, as the person was firing away and likely too far to hear me. So I put the dog in the camper, pulled out the shotgun, wiped the cobwebs off, got me 2 shells, went outside and fired twice. First was to say: I am here. Second was to say: I am armed. I got the biggest chuckle out of myself.
Let me assure the reader- I was not fearful of the either the yankee or the shots. I mean, to be realistic, they were likely unrelated incidents. Probably the lost cell phone user found his say back to his funny vehicle, and then after a while some local young guy went up to a field off in that direction and got some ya yas out.
But just in case...
