LJ Idol Week Season 8 Week 17 - Run with the Evenin' Sun
o/` ""And the warden sang
Come on somebody
Why don't you run
Ol' Red's itchin' to have a little fun
Get my lantern
Get my gun
Red'll have you treed before the mornin' comes" o/`
-- "Ol' Red" performed by Blake Shelton
By now, all our friends know that visiting our farm involves a long drive down a nearly empty two lane state road. At some point, the visitor turns off of the hardtop and then slogs through shifting sugar sands and swamp to reach their destination...assuming the vehicle doesn't bog down in all that sand and they don't have to call us to come and get them. Considering how infrequently folks wish to take such an adventurous trip, naturally we don't tell them that FoxHeart Acres is ideally located between the state's maximum security prison in Starke, a work farm, and a medium security prison in Gainesville. The same terrain which has good, solid friends begging us to meet them at a restaurant or mall in some civilized place where the directions don't include "watch out for the sink hole in the middle of the road --- the creek's running high --- and then turn left at the place with two spotted goats in the front yard" is obviously considered a great deterrent to escapees.
Too bad when whoever placed those detention facilities around here did so, they failed to take into consideration the sheer desperation which might cause someone to escape in the first place. This area has a rich history of man hunts. In the late 1800s the Texas Rangers chased the infamous John Wesley Hardin through here before finally cornering him on the train in the panhandle and Ted Bundy drove through here in the final fatal days of his flight from authorities. The Gainesville Ripper frequented the small parks and recreational lands. I'm certain there have probably been others.
A few months after we bought the place, Mr. Shapeshifter had to attend a business conference in Chicago. His company did not allow for the spouses of lowly programmers to accompany them on the corporation's dime and we were still too newly wed to be able to absorb that kind of expense out of pocket. Besides, I absolutely hate flying. Well, I thought, I'm a big girl. I can surely take care of myself for four days without the help of a man. I drove him to the airport, all the while spouting reassurances and thinking about home spa treatments, chick flicks he would never let me watch, favorite comfort foods I could eat which he didn't like...you know, a girl's week without the censorship of a man. Anyone who has ever tried to watch a chick flick with the husband or boyfriend present knows exactly what I mean.
The first two days went by like magic. I cooked up a big pot of southwestern style chili, as spicy as I could take it, poured it over some Fritos, garnished it with homemade avocado dip, and spent most of my time either watching movies or playing video games. I walked the dogs, fed the pets, painted my nails, and napped on the porch while drinking tea with orange blossom honey in it and reading a book.
That third night, though....
I had brought the dogs in for the night --- this was long before we built their kennel run --- and secured the doors and windows. As far out in the boonies as we live, I knew it probably wasn't necessary to do so but after so many years of living in the city it was a habit I couldn't seem to break. When I'd finished my evening chores, I turned on the news to catch the weather report so I could calculate what time I ought to be back at the airport in order to pick up Mr. Shapeshifter. I like to leave early because I always present him with a single rose and some silly little gift but it takes time to gather those items. I don't like buying them at the airport because they charge too damned much. The television bleeped in the manner it does when they're about to scroll a breaking news banner across the bottom. Usually it's a bad weather warning and I ignore them but this time, it turns out, it's a warning that the state maximum security facility is missing a prisoner who ought to be considered armed and dangerous. He's not the only one; I could not believe what I was seeing! The work farm was missing an inmate too, as was the medium security prison. Their presumed direction of travel didn't come anywhere near here, though, so I wasn't too worried about it. If I had been those men, I'd have headed straight for the Georgia line and not deep into the swamp in the middle of the state.
Around ten or so, as I made my last round of the house before going to bed, the sound of water running through the pipes startled me. There's no municipal water system out here; we have a private deep well. Since I certainly wasn't running any water in the house, that meant someone had to either be drawing water from the well head or from the spigot at the back corner of the house. Shit. There's absolutely no logical reason for that water to be running.
You'll recall Mr. Shapeshifter is a city boy, born and raised in Orlando, and knew nothing whatsoever about rural living. When we moved out here, I had tried to explain to him the necessity of purchasing firearms. They're a fact of life when you live in a rural setting for many reasons. In our case, the nearest sheriff's station was twenty miles away and at the time they had only one four wheel drive vehicle. If anything untoward happened, you were looking at a long wait before law enforcement showed up. I hadn't been able to convince him of the need and so of course I didn't have one when I most needed it.
I grabbed the first thing which came to hand, a ratty straw broom, and held it in one fist while I dialed 911. "There's someone using the spigot or the well head on my property," I explained, " and there shouldn't be anyone out there at all."
"Send your husband to check on it?" the dispatcher helpfully suggested. "We're kind of busy ---"
"I saw the news," I cut in, "and I'm not going out there. I'm home alone so you'd best be getting a couple of deputies out here now!" I don't like to play the helpless, screaming girl but hell...I lived twenty miles from nowhere, I was home alone, it was late, and there were known armed and dangerous criminals loose.
"A single deputy is all I can promise you and it'll be a while. Stay in the house. Have you got a weapon?"
"I have a goddamned broom," I sniffled. "My husband doesn't believe in owning firearms."
I might have imagined it but I thought she sounded more sympathetic as she took my information. "I'll put a rush on this. Stay away from the windows, stay inside, and keep that broom close."
Granted they sent me two very junior deputies (these are kids just out of high school who can perform some law enforcement actions but who haven't been sent to the academy yet), but they were there in about ten minutes. Of course, they couldn't take a patrol car back here so they were in a pick-up which I guessed belonged to one of them. I heard shuffling and banging, then boots as someone stomped up the porch stairs. Even though the boy looked like he'd have been more at home in a library handing out warnings for being too loud in the stacks, he had been properly trained. He knocked authoritatively and put his badge to the door's peep hole so that I could see it. I grabbed my broom, just in case, and opened the door so that I'd be standing behind it. If, by some weird chance, one of the escapees had waylaid a deputy, I could still bop him over the head and he'd never know....
"Miss, come out where I can see you, hands to your sides, and put the broom down!"
So much for that clever plan. I sighed and laid the broom flat on the floor in front of him. "Well, if you're an escapee I'm screwed." I gestured broadly toward the kitchen. "There's still some coffee in the pot, some biscuits on the stove, and I think there may be some cookies in the cookie jar. No cash, I'm afraid, but you're welcome to whatever you think might be useful."
"Um...no, ma'am! Clay County Sheriff's Office, Deputy Y. My partner, Deputy X, is outside investigating the well head and the spigot." He did a a quick by-the-book casing of the house to make certain there were no surprises and then stared at the broom. "Ma'am, we don't lose prisoners often but you do live near three correctional facilities. You ought to own a gun for personal defense." His radio clicked and blinked. The young man turned his back to me to answer it and I politely stepped away to sit at the dining room table. I warmed myself a cup of coffee and was weighing adding a splash of bourbon to it when the deputy finished his conversation.
"Find anything?" I asked, certain by now that there was nothing and that these two were going to have a hell of a tale to laugh over when they got back to the station. I had resolved myself to being known as the crazy old broad with the broom who jumped at shadows when he cleared his throat.
"Yes, ma'am, and we've sent for the dogs. There's evidence that at least one of the missing men has used your well head. My partner and I will stay here until the canine unit arrives, seeing as you're unarmed. Except for the broom," he amended.
I didn't find out until the story hit the morning news the next day just how lucky I'd been; all three escapees had been apprehended within five miles of my home and the fingerprints on the well house belonged to the man who had escaped from Starke, the one the news had declared armed and dangerous.
Mr. Shapeshifter bought me Justice, a .22 Ruger revolver, the next day.
Come on somebody
Why don't you run
Ol' Red's itchin' to have a little fun
Get my lantern
Get my gun
Red'll have you treed before the mornin' comes" o/`
-- "Ol' Red" performed by Blake Shelton
By now, all our friends know that visiting our farm involves a long drive down a nearly empty two lane state road. At some point, the visitor turns off of the hardtop and then slogs through shifting sugar sands and swamp to reach their destination...assuming the vehicle doesn't bog down in all that sand and they don't have to call us to come and get them. Considering how infrequently folks wish to take such an adventurous trip, naturally we don't tell them that FoxHeart Acres is ideally located between the state's maximum security prison in Starke, a work farm, and a medium security prison in Gainesville. The same terrain which has good, solid friends begging us to meet them at a restaurant or mall in some civilized place where the directions don't include "watch out for the sink hole in the middle of the road --- the creek's running high --- and then turn left at the place with two spotted goats in the front yard" is obviously considered a great deterrent to escapees.
Too bad when whoever placed those detention facilities around here did so, they failed to take into consideration the sheer desperation which might cause someone to escape in the first place. This area has a rich history of man hunts. In the late 1800s the Texas Rangers chased the infamous John Wesley Hardin through here before finally cornering him on the train in the panhandle and Ted Bundy drove through here in the final fatal days of his flight from authorities. The Gainesville Ripper frequented the small parks and recreational lands. I'm certain there have probably been others.
A few months after we bought the place, Mr. Shapeshifter had to attend a business conference in Chicago. His company did not allow for the spouses of lowly programmers to accompany them on the corporation's dime and we were still too newly wed to be able to absorb that kind of expense out of pocket. Besides, I absolutely hate flying. Well, I thought, I'm a big girl. I can surely take care of myself for four days without the help of a man. I drove him to the airport, all the while spouting reassurances and thinking about home spa treatments, chick flicks he would never let me watch, favorite comfort foods I could eat which he didn't like...you know, a girl's week without the censorship of a man. Anyone who has ever tried to watch a chick flick with the husband or boyfriend present knows exactly what I mean.
The first two days went by like magic. I cooked up a big pot of southwestern style chili, as spicy as I could take it, poured it over some Fritos, garnished it with homemade avocado dip, and spent most of my time either watching movies or playing video games. I walked the dogs, fed the pets, painted my nails, and napped on the porch while drinking tea with orange blossom honey in it and reading a book.
That third night, though....
I had brought the dogs in for the night --- this was long before we built their kennel run --- and secured the doors and windows. As far out in the boonies as we live, I knew it probably wasn't necessary to do so but after so many years of living in the city it was a habit I couldn't seem to break. When I'd finished my evening chores, I turned on the news to catch the weather report so I could calculate what time I ought to be back at the airport in order to pick up Mr. Shapeshifter. I like to leave early because I always present him with a single rose and some silly little gift but it takes time to gather those items. I don't like buying them at the airport because they charge too damned much. The television bleeped in the manner it does when they're about to scroll a breaking news banner across the bottom. Usually it's a bad weather warning and I ignore them but this time, it turns out, it's a warning that the state maximum security facility is missing a prisoner who ought to be considered armed and dangerous. He's not the only one; I could not believe what I was seeing! The work farm was missing an inmate too, as was the medium security prison. Their presumed direction of travel didn't come anywhere near here, though, so I wasn't too worried about it. If I had been those men, I'd have headed straight for the Georgia line and not deep into the swamp in the middle of the state.
Around ten or so, as I made my last round of the house before going to bed, the sound of water running through the pipes startled me. There's no municipal water system out here; we have a private deep well. Since I certainly wasn't running any water in the house, that meant someone had to either be drawing water from the well head or from the spigot at the back corner of the house. Shit. There's absolutely no logical reason for that water to be running.
You'll recall Mr. Shapeshifter is a city boy, born and raised in Orlando, and knew nothing whatsoever about rural living. When we moved out here, I had tried to explain to him the necessity of purchasing firearms. They're a fact of life when you live in a rural setting for many reasons. In our case, the nearest sheriff's station was twenty miles away and at the time they had only one four wheel drive vehicle. If anything untoward happened, you were looking at a long wait before law enforcement showed up. I hadn't been able to convince him of the need and so of course I didn't have one when I most needed it.
I grabbed the first thing which came to hand, a ratty straw broom, and held it in one fist while I dialed 911. "There's someone using the spigot or the well head on my property," I explained, " and there shouldn't be anyone out there at all."
"Send your husband to check on it?" the dispatcher helpfully suggested. "We're kind of busy ---"
"I saw the news," I cut in, "and I'm not going out there. I'm home alone so you'd best be getting a couple of deputies out here now!" I don't like to play the helpless, screaming girl but hell...I lived twenty miles from nowhere, I was home alone, it was late, and there were known armed and dangerous criminals loose.
"A single deputy is all I can promise you and it'll be a while. Stay in the house. Have you got a weapon?"
"I have a goddamned broom," I sniffled. "My husband doesn't believe in owning firearms."
I might have imagined it but I thought she sounded more sympathetic as she took my information. "I'll put a rush on this. Stay away from the windows, stay inside, and keep that broom close."
Granted they sent me two very junior deputies (these are kids just out of high school who can perform some law enforcement actions but who haven't been sent to the academy yet), but they were there in about ten minutes. Of course, they couldn't take a patrol car back here so they were in a pick-up which I guessed belonged to one of them. I heard shuffling and banging, then boots as someone stomped up the porch stairs. Even though the boy looked like he'd have been more at home in a library handing out warnings for being too loud in the stacks, he had been properly trained. He knocked authoritatively and put his badge to the door's peep hole so that I could see it. I grabbed my broom, just in case, and opened the door so that I'd be standing behind it. If, by some weird chance, one of the escapees had waylaid a deputy, I could still bop him over the head and he'd never know....
"Miss, come out where I can see you, hands to your sides, and put the broom down!"
So much for that clever plan. I sighed and laid the broom flat on the floor in front of him. "Well, if you're an escapee I'm screwed." I gestured broadly toward the kitchen. "There's still some coffee in the pot, some biscuits on the stove, and I think there may be some cookies in the cookie jar. No cash, I'm afraid, but you're welcome to whatever you think might be useful."
"Um...no, ma'am! Clay County Sheriff's Office, Deputy Y. My partner, Deputy X, is outside investigating the well head and the spigot." He did a a quick by-the-book casing of the house to make certain there were no surprises and then stared at the broom. "Ma'am, we don't lose prisoners often but you do live near three correctional facilities. You ought to own a gun for personal defense." His radio clicked and blinked. The young man turned his back to me to answer it and I politely stepped away to sit at the dining room table. I warmed myself a cup of coffee and was weighing adding a splash of bourbon to it when the deputy finished his conversation.
"Find anything?" I asked, certain by now that there was nothing and that these two were going to have a hell of a tale to laugh over when they got back to the station. I had resolved myself to being known as the crazy old broad with the broom who jumped at shadows when he cleared his throat.
"Yes, ma'am, and we've sent for the dogs. There's evidence that at least one of the missing men has used your well head. My partner and I will stay here until the canine unit arrives, seeing as you're unarmed. Except for the broom," he amended.
I didn't find out until the story hit the morning news the next day just how lucky I'd been; all three escapees had been apprehended within five miles of my home and the fingerprints on the well house belonged to the man who had escaped from Starke, the one the news had declared armed and dangerous.
Mr. Shapeshifter bought me Justice, a .22 Ruger revolver, the next day.
