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From the Nethermost
A bulldozer driver had agreed to meet me at the top of a hillside at half past noon. He was going to push out an old road. The bulldozer was already off the trailer when I arrived. There were sounds of the chugging machine somewhere below. I snatched on snake gaiters, picked up two staffs, and followed along the parallel tracks left by the treads. They started down in the right direction, turned, and went down the wrong side of a hill. "Wrong way!" I yelled. We could have no road where the bulldozer had pushed dirt. It was a steep drop over slippery clay and there was a spring oozing near the bottom. The tracks came to an abrupt halt at a six foot deep wash caused by the stream. The driver had turned the machine around and taken an alternate, higher route. There was no choice but for me to climb back up the slippery slope and start along the second road. The bulldozer was in the bottom pushing dirt, the driver looking for the place where the road would cross the big creek. When the driver saw me, he turned the bulldozer around. We met in the bottom. I told him that the road should go on the other side of the hill, that where he had pushed through was too steep for a roadway. He asked me to show him the remnants of the road down the other side. I charged back up the hill and pointed in the direction. From there I walked in front of the bulldozer. At one point, downed trees crisscrossed the old trail. I pointed in that direction. He nodded. "Where will the road cross the big creek?" the driver yelled. I yelled back that I would go locate the crossing and tie a red flag. He warned me to watch for snakes for, he said, they would eat me up. I doubted that, but I was glad I had on snake gaiters as I climbed over debris. Up one hill, down the side, and across a flat area: I found the creek crossing. After tying a flag, I went to a stump four feet tall and climbed on top so that the driver could see me and aim his machine. Suddenly, it got dark. A bright sunny afternoon, but it was getting dark, getting dark because of my stupidity! In the rush, I had left the water bottle in the car. I needed it. To get water, I would have to go up and down one hill before I started up the one where the car was. It would not be an easy walk for the hillside was covered with debris. If I got over it, I could get up the next hill in the bulldozer trail. Nothing to do except go. When I got to the top of the first hill, I decided to stop. I sat on the ground to get my head lower so I would not have so far to fall. Strangely, the threads on my jeans seemed as big as a mesh. The colors were splotches of yellows and blues and greens. The soil around my hands seemed to be made of large pebbles, not the grains of dirt which my intellect knew were there. The pebbles were multicolored. Yep. In trouble! Thankful to have the two staffs, I climbed through the debris and down off that hill to where there were tracks of the bulldozer. I could look up the next hill and see the car where there was water waiting for me. I started trudging. At some point, I realized the bulldozer was coming behind me. I moved aside as he pulled up and opened the door. "Are you okay?" he asked. I decided not to lie. "No, I got too hot. I am trying to get to the car where I have water." He reached in his box and pulled out a cold Coke. "Here." I had no pride. I took it. "How old are you?" he asked. I turned, sat down on the bulldozer treads, and took a long draw on the coke. "Seventy." "I hit it right on the button," he replied. "I called my wife and told her there was a 70-year-old man out here running up these hills like a 12-year-old." So much for thinking I don't look my age. I'll wager that what he really told his wife was this: "There is some old guy who looks to be about 70 years old and he is running around these gullies in the middle of the day with no more sense than a 12 year old!" I thanked him for the Coke. He told me to go home and sit in the air conditioning. How had he known I was in trouble? I guess that he figured that a 70-year-old man running around those gullies was bound to be in trouble one way or another. He was right.
Jim Herod is a retired Georgia Tech math professor living in Grove Hill.
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