There was something strange in the air as the moving truck backed up the short driveway on Fain.When the motion sensors stopped beeping, a brawny young man stepped out of the passenger seat and was uncertain as he walked up the with a rolled up papers.
After I confirmed the delivery, he looked at me and asked, “Did you know your neighbor has a severed cow head in their front yard?”
It was New Year’s Eve and his statement was oddly timed as one of the last unusual questions of 2022.
“Not that I’m aware of?” I asked to clearly show my surprise.
It’s like one of those things that people say not to look at, but it’s the one thing you want to see. After a few steps down the small country road near the airport, there it was. Just like he explained, only more macbre.
A cow’s head lying beside a trash can with horns and chickens walking aimlessly about.
“Can I help you with something?”
I was startled by a voice coming from the porch as I took a couple of photos with my cellphone. I story like this had to have a photo to align with the “truth is stranger than fiction.”
I turned and walked back to the little farm house as the delivery guys were uploading the furniture. They were rattled by the situation as well.
“We’ve been delivering furniture in East Tennessee for a long time and never seen anything like that.”
Over the weeks, I’ve come to see this event as my inaugarial event. Much like a pagan right of passage, the cow’s head sacrifice ushers in the outlands here in Blountville as I try to rewrite my future again.
It’s a strange land here on this country road. There’s a lot of history just around the corner. There’s also a lot of noise.
There’s a delicate balance between the howling blue tick hounds next door, the constant rumble of Fed-Ex trucks gearing up just outside of their truck yard, not to mention the commercial jets taxing on the tarmac across the street and revering their engines between 6am and 11pm most every night.
Like they say. You get used it it. Maybe.