I'm not one given to idolatry, but she gave it to me for a specific reason. It serves as my reminder to look around when everything appears to be going sideways on me.
It is probably coincidence that every vehicle save one it's hung in has managed to avoid accidents - and that one exception should have been much, much worse, but there we are.
Dad and I were out hunting.
My audience will note that, very commonly, my discussion of bizarre turns of events in my formative years usually start with "Dad and I were out hunting."
It was nearing the end of October in the Sticks, and the weather started out its usual autumn-in-the-mountains craptastic; it had dusted snow overnight and turned to rain in the morning. Pretty good for the Moose Dad wanted to fill his tag for. We were somewhere down the Corbin road at first light, and took an extended walk through the gathering slush in a good place he had scouted.
Not unusually, the local Moose population had other ideas, and left an enormous number of tracks to taunt us - immediately around Dad's old K5 Blazer.
It was mid morning, and we mounted up and headed home, keeping an eye to the treeline on either side of the road. Any game we saw would still be fair, but Dad knew I had a prior commitment I wanted to keep if I could - the remote possibility of dressing out a large animal notwithstanding.
There was a truck some distance behind us. Suddenly it peeled off the dirt road, and disgorged its hunters to the west side.
Dad looked over at me and said few choice words about luck when we heard the shots. Neither of us had seen a thing when we went by. "Wasn't to be, today, I guess," he said, shrugging it off. "Let's get you to your game."
By 11 am, at home, I had showered and was ready to make the 45 minute hike up to the Heights. "I can give you a ride if you want," Dad offered.
This was unusual. I mean, if it was on the way to somewhere he needed to be, sure, but commonly I would just walk. It occurred to me he just wanted to go for the drive. "Sure," I said. "It'll make me pretty early, but that's fine. Thanks! Let's go."
At the time, I had a winter coat with the cool new feature of zip-off sleeves - which I most commonly wore sleeveless. I'd checked the weather and it was improving pleasantly; I'd be fine in the vest. To this day I don't know why I put the sleeves back on the thing. For a car ride, no less.
And off we went.
They were still building the Highway 43 bypass, so to drive to the Heights - the new subdivision in the Sticks - was a twenty minute tour through the old townsite, past a couple trailer courts, and over the ancient one-lane trestle.
It was always a nice drive, later I would tour around there in Dad's car in summer evenings - unbeknownst to him, of course, just for the pleasure of it.. But I digress.
People were out. There were a couple of kids fishing under the trestle bridge, a girl sitting on the north slope with a couple dogs overlooking Matevic Road; just enjoying an afternoon where the weather had settled down. Dad turned up Matevic Road.
That led to a more established set of acreages up in the hills - and was not where I was intending to go. I surmised he thought I going to a different friend's place; his parents had bought a house up there a few years earlier. That was fine, as I still had more than enough time before my appointment. I had Dad drop me at a cut line that led from the road up to the subdivision - an easy walk.
And I arrived to find my appointment canceled. The guy was a couple houses up the street, working for a neighbor. He'd called - but missed me by about five minutes. He invited me to stay - but I declined; I didn't care to interfere with his job for the day. He said I should call for a ride - I said it was fine; the walk would be quite comfortable since I put the sleeves on my coat.
I headed back down that cut, and decided to drop in on that friend a half-klick up the road.
I stood there on his doorstep and looked at the doorbell for maybe five minutes, debating whether I should press it. I finally decided not to, mostly on the grounds that I just didn't want to impose without calling ahead.
I gave the whole day to that point up as a bad job, and decided to at least enjoy the walk home over the CPR tracks... which technically was illegal and moderately unsafe due to the train bridge, and trespassing to boot - but also not something I hadn't already done a hundred or so times. Me and every other Kid in the Sticks.
I headed back to the ancient one-lane trestle. It came majestically into view as I cleared the trees by the freezing-cold Elk River on Matevic Road.
The girl with the dogs had left - but the two kids were still under the bridge. They weren't fishing any more; one had slid up to his waist into the river. The other was trying very hard - with no success - to pull his hypothermic friend out.
Could have rung a doorbell.
Could have stuck around for a while.
Could have been dropped at the right door - and then got a ride home.
Could have got a phonecall.
Could have left the sleeves off the coat.
Could have passed up the ride.
Could have been dressing out a deer by the road.
Could have waited in the Blazer.
I learned in that instant to never begrudge a manifestation of Infinite Improbability - just Roll With It.
Next time you find yourself somewhere you - by rights - should never have ended up, and you're cursing your rotten luck - have a look around.
Maybe there's something you're supposed to do.
Maybe - this time - Ananke's Well-Aimed Rock is you.
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