Guns, Shovels and Signage

A long overdue rant.

Enough is enough.

We’ve decided to move.

You expect a different mindset in different regions but what we’ve experienced over the last three years has been completely off the charts and it’s getting worse.

One of our neighbors has installed a bunch of “funny” no trespassing signs on our two shared easements and more on his fences. Last count was about ten. It looks like a used car lot from hell – tacky and cheap.

shoot shovel shutup

As I creep through the gauntlet in my dusty Durango, I almost expect a salesperson dressed as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre killer (only he has a shotgun), to step out from behind a tree into the car’s path.

In this particular scenario, I look nervously around from the driver’s seat as he walks around to the window and growls “Can I interest you in a vehicle? Just got some new ones in. Turn around real slow and have a look at the inventory.”

I look over my shoulder and see a field with a cow and a couple of goats as he jerks his head around at his house and yells, “Ma! Get the John Deer fired up! Gotta’ customer wants a test drive.”

You would need the John Deer to disappear a whole Durango.

“Never mind the dog – beware of owner” one sign says. We’re bewaring all right. He adds more every day and I wonder if he has one of those programmable electronic signs on order from ebay with maybe some of those frilly flag thingys thrown in.

I am not opposed to guns. I am not opposed to second amendment rights. I’m not on either side politically but I am irritated that this guy assumes we all want this kind of welcome mat.

Will this affect our property values?

What is this guy so threatened by? The government?

Did I mention this is no other than Cowheadguy The Totem?

At any rate, this is another example of a situation that forces us into either a  pushover or busybody position. We need to find our assertive position but I think we’ll end up waiting until the threat of being shot passes to object or let it go.

I miss the quiet we had during that first year after we pulled the Jayco Lite up the long dusty driveway. We’re looking for property with a larger buffer a little closer to a metropolitan area but still away from it all.

We do, however, have one card up our sleeve: this particular neighbor has inquired into buying our land when we leave.

Payback is a bitch.

Someone Paved Our Driveway – Sort Of

It’s that time of the year again – when the snow melts and the ground doesn’t. As a result, billions of gallons of runoff heads in our direction in the space of about three weeks.

The layer of permafrost won’t let the water soak in except for the topmost couple of inches; just enough to make a nice mud pie.

Our driveway, which doubles as a seasonal creek and has never been user friendly,  becomes a bog. It should have been regraded and graveled a couple of years ago but that would have required the neighbors to agree on something.

We have three times the traffic this year and every time someone drives through the goop, it gets deeper and threatens to suction the car in place – never to move again – and it’s one lane.

The prospect of becoming a ginormous speed bump the neighbors have to negotiate on their way home is enough to keep us far, far away from The Thing – The Road.

The destruction extends all the way to the main road. The postal service left a nasty-gram in everyone’s mailboxes telling us to fix the road or no mail would be delivered.  Luckily someone  dumped a load of rocks in front of the boxes, thus restoring our service.

The trek is so intimidating we stay home unless we’re out of oxygen or something. Don’t try to text during the ride or you may end up ruining a relationship with someone you never knew and becoming best friends with someone from Lisbon, Portugal in the space of a quarter mile.

By the time you reach the street, there’s a chance you’ll be seasick and may have incurred some sort of blunt force trauma after glancing off of some inner furnishing of the vehicle. The violent lateral lurches are capable of putting a head through a passenger door window.

The other day we needed cat food (oxygen), so we piled into the four-wheel  and braced ourselves. As we crept to the top of the worst part of the easement – a steeply graded slope – we looked down and noticed someone had laid pavement at the bottom.

More accurately, someone had lobbed chunks of broken asphalt all over the road. They lay at all angles and sizes where they were chucked. Some slabs were two feet in diameter with smaller shards mixed in.

This project had our uppermost neighbor’s “hold my beer” signature all over it. Huge ruts from his truck now cut into and through portions of the road – which he missed with the asphalt.

What we were looking at reminded me of a school project. Imagine a four-year old with some glue and macaroni only big.

I told my husband to stop while I jumped out and I redistributed the minefield.

I  jumped back in and we skirted the construction zone as far to the right as we could without rolling down the slope away from the road.

Now we had to make it past Cowhead Guy’s house (explanation here).

Never a dull day.