The Cabin – Part 2
"Nobody goes through that gate but the ditch walker"
It has been four days since moving into The Cabin. I spent the first day cleaning...cleaning and cleaning some more. Sweeping mouse poop...setting traps and poison out for said poop producers and investing in Scentsy wax to cover aroma of same. Unless the filthy boogers have regrouped to bring in reinforcements for another attack – I believe I have them under control. I'll take my Arizona rattlesnakes any day of the week.
I slept pretty good my first night considering. Considering a Big Foot marathon I watched the night before and my dad's tales of the bear that occasionally comes off the hill behind The Cabin to investigate possible leavings in the garbage cans. Fortunately, the garbage cans are empty and I don't really believe in Big Foot. I don't believe in Big Foot. I don't believe in Big Foot....
Dad had spent the greater part of my childhood preparing me for things such as bears – aliens - Big Foot – communists and hippies.
Bears are more scared of you than you are of them. But if you do encounter one...guaranteed at least one of you will be shitting in the woods.
If you are abducted by Aliens – you won't remember it because they suck all the data out of your brain and then erase your memory with a plasma probe before beaming you unbeknownst back to your bed.
It is universally known that Big Foot is the Hide and Seek Champion of the world and you will likely never know he's there. Never mind that 9' hairy figure stepping just out of view behind the tree at dusk. If you do come face to face...don't make eye contact.
Communists – buy, download or stream Red Dawn ...both versions and watch over and over again until committed to memory.
Hippies...Dad didn't have much of a solution here other than familiarize yourself with the smell of patchouli and keep a shotgun loaded with buckshot should one happen to show up on your property uninvited. It doesn't hurt to keep a Bible handy...apparently it acts as a repellent of sorts.
The first morning in The Cabin would put my training to use. I'd been up for several hours planning my day, making breakfast and puttering around in general. I thought I heard a vehicle pull up but since the dogs didn't bark, I assumed it might be the creek. A few moments later, I heard voices. I pulled back the curtain to see two hippies scampering up the hill to the west. What appeared to be a female hippie and a male of the same species. It can be hard to tell to the untrained eye.
I knew The Cabin was safe...there's a Bible in every room...two in some. With my pistol already concealed and ready to go....I boldly stepped out the door to confront the intruders. "Can I help you?" Both the male and the female stopped in their tracks and descended off the hill wide eyed and looking just a wee-bit guilty.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: "Can I help you?...this is private property."
Female hippy: "HI!! HOW ARE YOU? We're just going through to check on the head-gate."
Access to the head-gate for Posey ditch sits on The Cabin's property in the form of a locked, green gate separating our property and the neighbors. Dad was adamant about anyone other than the ditch walker accessing that gate. "Nobody goes through that gate but the ditch walker." Remember that girls...commit it to memory – no exceptions." Dad's words echoed through my head and out my mouth.
Me: "Nobody goes through that gate but the ditch walker. Besides...the gates over there." (I pointed in the opposite direction they were frolicking.)
Female hippy: "Oh...yeah, well...um...I was looking for the key...it's not there any more."
Me: "If you knew where the key was...you would know it wasn't in the direction you were going. Nobody goes through that gate except the ditch walker. Who are you?"
Female hippy: "My name is "Meadow Muffin" ...and who are you?"
Me: "I am the land owner of this property. Nobody goes through that gate but the ditch walker."
Meadow Muffin: Oh yes...well, I am the ditch walker."
Me: "You sure don't look like the ditch walker." (I know the ditch walker –Ray's an 85 year old man that's been in charge of this ditch for 43 years and I'm quite sure can't spell patchouli let alone smell of it.)
Meadow Muffin: "I'm the new ditch walker. The old one got voted out."
She went on to explain the gory details of why the folks on the ditch thought it necessary to vote out an old timer who's been doing his job for 43 years...and what a stellar job she was doing as the replacement. It rubbed me the wrong way. Technically, I don't have a dog in the fight; other than access to the head-gate goes through our property, it is of no concern to us. It just pisses me off what they did to Ray and I wasn't letting them off easy.
I glanced over at the male hippy:
Me: "...and what is your name?"
Male hippy: "I'm Milo Treehugger! - I like to ride my bike up here. It's a lovely place."
Meadow Muffin:" Haha...YES! If you see a guy up here in spandex riding his bike – it's just Milo!"
Me: "It's probably a lot safer for everyone involved if he doesn't"
Sort of a deer in the headlights thing going on here.
Me: "Nobody comes through that gate but the ditch walker. Where do you live?"
Milo Treehugger: "I live in the valley."
Me: "Uh huh...so you both live in Halfway?"
They confirmed they both lived in Halfway Oregon.
Me: "You both live here...yet your pickup has Washington plates?"
They went on to explain that Milo Treehugger still had a place in Washington State. That explains a lot.
I confessed to Meadow and Milo that while I might seem paranoid – we have had problems with trespassers and nefarious individuals lurking about. Now that we live here full time, it stops here. Just last week an unauthorized person had come onto the property leaving the gate propped open.
Meadow Muffin: "It wasn't me...I always close the gate. Do you know who it was?"
Me: "No – the camera wasn't pointed in the right direction and didn't catch them. It is now. I started to walk up and check but didn't have my pistol."
Meadow:" Oh...I'm glad you pack. I pack too. I've been threatened many times since taking over."
Me: "Threatened by who?"
Meadow: "Lot's of the people on the ditch."
She went on to name several of the long-time locals on the ditch that weren't happy with her work. I couldn't help wonder how the hell she got voted in by her peers if most of them were angry enough to make threats? It's hard telling. In Meadow's defense, being the ditch walker is one of the most thankless and dangerous jobs a person can have. A ditch walker once told me that at one time, more homicides have been committed over water right disputes than any other motive in the United States.
We talked for a bit. Turns out Meadow and I went to school together in the 5th grade. I vaguely remember the name. Milo, on the other hand...never seen in my life. We agreed the safest thing for everyone is to not be frolicking around private property on your bike...spandex or not.
We swapped phone numbers and agreed it would be safest if Meadow sent a text before accessing the gate. I felt a little bad for giving them such a hard time.
Me: "If you think I'm unfriendly – wait until you meet my sister."
Meadow: "Oh...you're not being unfriendly – you are being cautious – I totally understand. What's your sisters name? Should I get her number as well?"
Me: "Nah...she would kill us both if I gave out that information. My bark is worse than my bite. My sister on the other hand...she's the quiet one. You'll never see it coming. We will cross that bridge when the time comes. It's been nice meeting you – we should get along fine as long as everyone remembers..."nobody goes through that gate but the ditch walker."
Note: I later called Ray. (after struggling to remember how to use a phone book and landline) He confirmed that after 43 years – he was indeed voted out of his job as ditch walker. I told him of my encounter with Meadow Muffin and Milo Treehugger. We agreed that dad would have been proud. Ray chuckled, told me to be careful and wished me luck before hanging up the phone.
