The Snowblower Bandit And Other Stories

The Snowblower Bandit Strikes Again!

I had another brush with the law, but this time, I stole people!

***

It all started when I was helping to clean out a neglected barn. There are quite a few outbuildings on the land surrounding the vineyard. Whenever someone would move (or pass) away and adjoining acreage became available, the family would often buy it so they could add to their growing capacity. Many of these purchases were smaller agricultural plots, much like theirs. Their total acreage is still quite small, and much of their revenue comes from hosting events. The barns, sheds, and fencerows acquired by the purchases were often left to serve as backdrops for photographers to use.

One such barn hadn't been opened in probably a decade. Being me, I had to see what was inside. The usual collection of rusting metal tools, scrap wood, mouse droppings, bird nests, and pale vines that regretted their decision to grow into the behemoth's belly had been waiting patiently to be discovered. I got permission to clean it out, and began collecting metal in a truck to sell as scrap, moving wood to be used for bonfires, and clearing the eldritch collection of sickly things trying to grow along the edges.

After days of hard labor, I got to the layers of pressboard leaned against a back wall. I didn't know how I would manage to move them when I saw how big they were, but they ended up coming apart in chunks as I tried to move them. They were rotted and moist, unburnable and unusable. I was on my fifth or sixth wheelbarrow of the filth when I ripped a chunk off and saw the unmistakable aluminum nose of a canoe sticking out from behind it. Sure enough, one of those red plastic Coleman canoes, ubiquitous in the Northwoods (and I assume most other places), had been languishing in the darkness, miles from where it could glide in open waters as it was meant to. This was no prima donna craft meant to be admired for its looks. This was a working man's boat. Serviceable and dependable, it could be afforded by almost anyone who wanted to enjoy an outdoor experience and didn't demand modern comforts. In short, I had found a kindred spirit.

If you can't tell, I tend to personify things. I have a very secular bent when I enter rational discourse, but in everyday life, I am the consummate dreamer. This poor craft had given up hope of fulfilling its purpose in life any longer. With a heavy heart and sickened soul, it had been begging in the dark to be put out of its misery. Like a dog left neglected and without human contact, it had known only loneliness and isolation. A life unfulfilled.

Once uncovered, I turned it right side up, then dragged it out of the barn and into the sunlight. It was filled with living moss, defunct wasp nests, wads of grass that had been wound into housing for mice, and layers of spiderwebs. After a day, a bucket of sudsy water, and a hose, I had a new, shiny, crimson friend.

I began talking about taking it out. CeeCee had known for a while that I'd been longing to get out by myself somewhere in the woods and "go primal" as she calls it. One day while I was sorting through my camping gear, she came up behind me and put her arms around my shoulders.

"You need to get out and explore soon. Don't you?"

I didn't say anything. I just rested my head on her arm, enjoying the feeling of having her hold me. She kissed my cheek.

"Go find the horizon, Moana. I'll be here when you get back."

***

A week later I was heading northwest in my trusty Jeep with the canoe ratchet strapped to the top. It's upside down aluminum beak looked like a smile. I imagined it enjoying the feeling of the air slipping over its exposed belly as we buzzed down the highway.

I had two dry bags full of gear and food in the back alongside a wooden paddle they had lying around from some time long ago. I was heading towards the flyspeck town of Winter. It's population is "about 300" according to one website. The same page boasts that the town has its very own diner. It's right next to the Fire Hall/Town Hall/Post Office. Winter is the kind of town that feels like my native environment.