Green Energy ...Part 3 ...Off the Grid with Coyotes
since it consists principally in dealing with men.
—Joseph Conrad
I'm being pushed and pulled by two neighbours to see things their way—and on my own land. I can't believe the nerve.
I understand Jim Crow in a way. He's a Native American, a Cherokee, and is followed around by a wild crow. I expect him to be off the grid, so to speak.
But I have absolutely no patience for Stella McKinley, my beautiful but nosey neighbour. She's interrupted my dinner because she wants to see the fence Jim and I have been building around my wind turbines.
I have a right to protect my property—even with an electrified fence. Sheesh! Talk about tilting a windmills...
So here we are out on my property at nightfall, and I'm letting Stella inspect my fence before pronouncing it unobjectionable.
I wish I could do the same for her, but can’t.
Face it—the woman bugs me.
We wander around a bit—more like flounder around. It’s snowing hard and the usual contours of the land are hidden. I’m looking for markers and then—ZAP!
“Urgh!” I fall backward over a pile of logs and get my leg jammed.
“Jed, Are you all right?”
She’s hovering above me, her fragrant hair cascading into my face and I'm looking up into those soft brown eyes.
“I’m okay,” I lie. My left arm feels numb and my right leg is wedged tight beneath a heavy oak log.
“You idiot!” Her eyes flash fire. “Didn’t you mark and sign the fence?”
I blink. I want to make an excuse—we didn’t have time—or were coming back tomorrow. It’s useless—she knows.
“Naw, I didn’t mark it. I’m an idiot.”
“Let me move that log.”
She strains as hard as she can—it won’t move.
“I can’t budge it. What should we do?”
“Maybe you can back the truck up—I’ve got a chain and winch—you can wrap it around the log and pull it off me.”
She looks at me with sudden admiration. “That’s a good idea. Hold on.”
She runs back to the F150 pickup and as she goes I admire her cute derriere and feel pretty good about myself and my suggestion.
I hear the truck start up and hear the growl as she tromps the accelerator and breaks through the brush.
She stops about two yards from me.
She loops the chain around the log, gets in the truck and inches forward till she feels resistance. She then gives it some gas.
The back wheels spin. She gasses it some more and they slip again and then bite. The truck lurches forward and the weight of the log comes off me.
“Okay,” I yell, “I’m free.”
She shuts off the motor and comes back and squats down to check my leg.
“Don’t move until I make sure it’s not broken.”
I let her play nurse and lean back and let the snowflakes melt on my eyelashes. I’m hearing funny whuffling noises from the woods around us.
“Looks okay,” she says, “But probably sprained. Be careful when you get up—try not to put too much weight upon it.”
I grab her arm. “Can you hear that noise—what is that?”
She listens and I watch her brow furrow and then her eyes go wide. “We need to move fast.”
“What is it?” I demand.
“Coyotes—and they’re all around us. We’ve got to get inside the truck.”
A wave of panic rolls through me, but I numbly get to my feet as a shot of pain from my right leg almost causes me to faint.
“*AHHH!” I bend my knee as much as I can to take the weight off and lean on her.
She almost falls under my weight.
“Shut up!” she hisses in my ear. “Don’t excite them—they’re already calling to each other and surrounding us.”
“Great!” I hiss back, my teeth clenched and eyes closed.
We stumble the ten or twelve feet through the snow to the passenger door of the truck. She opens it and I realize I can’t get in.
“Lean forward on the seat and I’ll boost you.”
I obey and she gets her hands on my behind and pushes with all her strength.
The pain is blinding, but somehow I manage to wedge myself into a crouching position in the cab.
It takes all my strength to maneuver my leg so she can shut the door. She then runs around, climbs in the driver’s side and slams the door, just as a large coyote emerges from the pines beside us.
“Not a moment too soon,” I moan. She flashes me hell eyes.
I don’t think this night went too well at all—as a matter of fact, I doubt she’ll ever talk to me again.
It’s all good, I guess. I seem to have gotten my wish, but for some reason it doesn’t make me happy.
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