Driving along Hwy #128, through Anderson Valley, I spotted sheep grazing in a vineyard.
I took a left onto a dirt road and followed the outline of the vineyard until I could go no further. A Chevy pick-up, parked at the end of the road, blocked me from making a U-turn, so I did a three-point turn, unknowingly driving my back tires into thick mud. I tried to pull forward, but the car didn’t budge.
A man appeared out of the Chevy and walked up to the passenger window,
“what are you doing here?”
“I followed the road, admiring the sheep.”
“well, you’re stuck.”
The man turned from my window and left.
No offer to help. Nothing.
He just left.
He seemed pretty content that my back wheel was buried in mud to its axle.
That’ll teach me to go off the paved road.
Preoccupied with how I was going to get out of the mud, I didn’t even watch him leave.
I sat there for a moment, trying to figure out what I was going to do.
I had just been told by a local winemaker that the locals have helicopter insurance, so they are covered if they get in an accident and have to be flown to the nearest hospital. Road-side assistance probably wasn’t an option.
I fumbled with the gear shift, trying to find 4-wheel drive. It finally went into gear.
Don’t gun it, you’ll bury it deeper, just press on the gas and ease it out of this muddy hole.
And, what do you know, miraculously, up and out the tires rolled –
Freeing me from the grips of the muddy nightmare.
Feeling for a moment like a lamb who’d lost her way, I stopped the car before getting back on the highway and sat in silence.
Silently, giving thanks, for being led to those lambs and for being led out of the mud.
“Silence of the Lambs”