Well, I just about had a heart attack this morning. I hadn't been up very long and therefore had not turned my phone's ringer back on and I noticed, a little after nine, that I'd missed a call that was ID'ed as coming from Apalachicola, but not a number I recognized. Apalach is not one of the regular spam call origins and since Mr. Moon is down in that county, I decided I better call it back and I did and a lady answered and I told her who I was and she identified herself as a Franklin County deputy and asked me, "Do you know a Curtis Moon?"
HOLY FUCK! "Curtis" is actually Glen's real first name. The only time it's ever used is in a legal situation where the person does not really know him. And a DEPUTY was asking me if I knew him?
"Yes! That's my husband!" I said, and my heart about stopped and I thought Oh my god, he's dead, or maybe he's in a hospital or maybe he's in...jail?
Amazing how many dire situations the brain can go to in the shortest amount of time. Probably not even two seconds, in this case.
"What's happened?" I asked Deputy Debbie. I was frantic.
"Well, we got a call from the Lanark store that his truck and boat trailer have been parked there for a few days and we were just making sure that there's not been an unreported accident."
And my heart started beating again and I began babbling something about how no, no, he was fine, just on Dog Island where we have a house and he and a friend had put in on Friday evening and yes, they were fine, they were lovely, all was well, thank you for calling, etc.
The boat launch in Lanark, Florida, is right across from Dog Island. Shortest distance from land to dock. There's a little store there and a payment box where you can leave your money when you launch and there's a parking lot where you can leave your vehicle and trailer, which Mr. Moon had done and he'd included a note to the guy who runs the store whom he knows, so he had followed the rules and thought he'd covered all his bases. I guess the store guy hasn't checked his payment box for a few days. Anyway, he got concerned and called the Franklin County Sheriff's department and they got his details from his trailer registration which is how they found me which is rather odd, I think. I'm sure they tried to call his phone first and when nobody answered, they got concerned.
Deputy Debbie (I can't remember her last name) kept explaining why she'd called and I kept telling her thank-you, thank-you, thank-you for checking and doing my own explaining and finally I guess we were both tired of the conversation and were pretty sure our individual messages had been received and we hung up.
After I got some semblance of composure back, I called Chip's phone and Glen answered it. The guys were as happy as could be, eating their cereal and getting ready to put in another day of work and I told them the story about Deputy Debbie's call and they just laughed and said they were sorry I'd had that shock, but damn- if they had been in a boat accident they'd still be out in the gulf paddling around wondering if anyone was ever going to come rescue them. This is true but hopefully, I would have known to report their asses if I hadn't heard from them since Friday. Then Glen told me about getting the truck stuck in the sand of the driveway of the house where it enters the "road" because the 4-Wheel drive on the truck isn't working and he'd had to call the island manager (yes, there is one) to come tow him out with the tractor he uses to maintain the roads and that guy, when he showed up, said, "Who's the asshole who did this?" and Glen admitted that he was indeed the asshole and got a small lecture on needing 4-Wheel drive which Glen thought he had and there you go, folks- that's life on Dog Island. Never easy and you have to roll with the punches and laugh while you're doing it.
So that was that and the rest of my day was a breeze after I recovered from my near cardiac event. I picked some more green beans and cucumbers and cut and trimmed some bamboo to make stakes for the tomatoes I started from the seeds of the Sugar Bomb cherry tomatoes. They've gotten big enough to need tying up and also have started to bloom and I staked a few peppers that are so heavy with peppers that they're falling over too. I spent some time looking online for a house to rent in North Carolina when we go up next month. Jessie and Vergil are leaving Thursday night which is way, way, sooner than I thought for some reason (denial) and we need to get our plan squared away.
It's rained on and off today which has kept things relatively cool. In between quick rain storms, the sun has come out and it's truly been a beautiful day.
I'll probably make a few more pints of pickled green beans tomorrow and if the cucumbers keep coming, I'll get a few pints of those made this week too. When I cut that first cucumber the other day, the smell of it just rocked me right back to the summers when I was so very young, the mother of two little ones, learning to make pickles from The Joy of Cooking cookbook. I think back on those days when I had no AC and the canning kettle boiled all day long in my kitchen as I tried to use every one of the cukes we were getting from our garden. One summer I put up over a hundred pints of pickles. Dills, sweet, bread and butter, mustard. How in the world did I do it all? I took care of my children and and two dogs and a big garden and my house, all mostly on my own. I sewed and I crocheted and I embroidered and I made my own yogurt and I had a big friend circle and I helped at home births and I read like a maniac and I ran two miles every day and I also took care of a little girl who's mama was a friend of mine who worked at the Monticello library, all the time near starving myself so I would be the beautiful skinny woman that I was sure my husband wanted me to be.
No wonder I'm tired all the time.
I think about how depressed I was in those days when I barely gave myself time to think, in fact, tried NOT to think, even though looking back I remember some of the most beautiful moments and I have such an admiration for that Mary and I wish I could hold her in my arms and say, "It's okay, honey. You're doing good."
And then I'd probably tell her a few more things, mostly about men, but of course I can't and it's all worked out okay, mostly and in some ways, far better than I could ever have dreamed.
It is quite peaceful here this evening and my man is fine and has not drowned at sea and my babies are all safe and their babies are all safe and I still use pickle recipes from The Joy of Cooking and here is a picture of Maurice from a few minutes ago, looking out at the trees whose leaves are fluttering in the breeze, and the birds who are singing their getting-ready-for bed songs, and the squirrels who are so endlessly entertaining for us all as they skitter and leap in their tree universe.