It is time for that weekly game of Where ‘s Our Package.
Living down a dirt road has its advantages. No one can find you.
The disadvantage is that no one can find your address.
Every month, we go through the same exercise: figuring out where the latest new delivery driver decided our packages belonged.
You know you live in the middle of nowhere if you have to say sentences like:
“All that is a picture of is a box and gravel.”
“Did you look by the first cattle guard or the second?”
“Well, it could be anywhere between the mailboxes and the house.”
That last one covers about half a mile.
I didn’t say we live on a working ranch. We are definitely not a farm.
But when you step outside, you need to be aware that rattlesnakes, copperheads, scorpions, tarantulas, or peacocks could be right outside the door and you might not see them. Atmosphere matters.
Right now, the birds are very interested in the garage. This is not a bird-friendly place. Anywhere near James’s car is an area that is very clearly off-limits to them.
They disagree.
They know exactly where the blue Tesla lives, and they love James’s car. Han could stand and stare into it for hours. He would also very much like to get on top of it.
We try to discourage any affinity with cars.
This rule exists for a reason.
Years ago, the paint on one of James’s previous cars was actually ruined by wild turkeys. One of them decided the Nissan 370z was his love interest and took the relationship very seriously. I named him Lewis. His equally unhelpful friend was Clark.
Lewis chased that car like it was not allowed to leave the property without him.
If I didn’t have video of it, you would think I was making it up.
That incident is why the rule exists.
Admittedly, I did not fully remember the turkey situation when I decided on peacocks. I also failed to adequately factor in that their closest relative is, in fact, the turkey.
Han helpfully refreshed my memory this November by sitting on my brand new car three days after I bought it. The luggage rack made an excellent perch.
Of course it did…
Oh good. James found the package.
The driver took a picture of it on the gravel. Then picked it up and shoved it into the mailbox.
This was not helpful.
If you need me, I’ll be staring at photos of packages on gravel and trying to determine whether the leaves in the picture offer any forensic clues about its whereabouts.