It startled me to slam on my brakes as fast as I could. Looming larger than life next to my car window appeared a small doe, darting out of nowhere as they’re prone to do. Before I had a half-second to even think, she thumped-thumped against the passenger door behind me and limped off the highway, thankfully before any other car hit her.
I was on a highway going the speed limit. Cars coming toward me in their lane, cars behind me in mine, there was no possible way to stop immediately. Finding the first spot to pull over, my adrenaline was off the roof.
People hit deer. It happens, and everyone has their own story.
A friend described her deer collision to me in detail — her text message was accompanied by several exclamation points. She had been at a dead stop and the buck that hit her ran right into the side of her car. It slammed into her car so hard that his antlers shattered and came down like rain on her roof. Six thousand dollars later, she got her car back.
I exclaimed over her incident and had told her I was gun-shy now. I see deer running out behind every nook and cranny. She said I’d be paranoid until Christmas. At that, she mentioned she’s still a better deer-watcher than her husband.
The worst thing about this whole thing — well, besides the five Ben Franklins just thrown out the window — is the lack of mobility. I like to accept impromptu lunch dates with girlfriends, or schedule feature story interviews without a second thought to, “Hey, wait. Do I have wheels?”
We have my husband’s farm truck, yes, but that thing feels like driving a semi after my sweet little Chevy Trailblazer with the push-button-on-the-trunk for groceries. My depth perception is off-kilter in that thing. I park and get out, finding that I’ve overstepped my boundaries, taking up two car spaces.
These days without a car, I have to check my husband’s schedule before making my own. He is in the throes of the volleyball season as a middle school referee, which will just now take him off the farm numerous times in the weeks to come.
We are getting text message updates from the body shop, which is helpful and maddening. What takes so long? I’m learning patience in a hard, literal way. It’s not that I’m a social butterfly, by any means. Give me a good book, a quiet time relaxing on our deck and I’m happy as a clam. I just need to have wheels when I wanna ride.
Why don’t I rent a car, you may ask? It’s not covered under our insurance plan, and I’m too cheap.
The newer cars these days are so high-tech, they talk to you on the display to your immediate right. Once I had to drive our son’s girlfriend’s car to Appleton. I had wandered over, hugging the right side one too many times and on her display I saw a steaming cup of coffee (the steam was literally wafting) and a large note read: “Do you need a break?”
I laughed out loud. Coming up to a red light, the car shut down. I was frantic, wondering if it had just crashed on me and thoughts flew. Taking my foot off the brake, it woke up. It had one of those default shut-down-at-stop features. Who knew?
Purchasing our car last year, we now are familiar with this feature and to be honest, what is it there for? To save gas? It’s a mystery to me.
These cars though, are very thoughtful. Once I was in Shawano running errands. Parked right across from Dreier’s on Main Street, I was going to zip across to pick up a prescription. Thinking I’d just grab my debit card, I proceeded to try to push-button lock the door.
My car answered with a swift and startling beep-beep. Two little sounds that stopped me in my tracks. It wouldn’t lock. It dawned on me like the sun coming out from behind a cloud — goodness gracious sakes alive, I had left my keys (and my cellphone) in my purse. In the car.
Had the little high-tech guru not warned me, I’d have been locked out of my car without a cellphone in the middle of Shawano’s Main Street.
So back to the deer mishap, my car had given me no message saying my tire was low or whatever it might have said. Getting out, I found I could open and shut the very sorry looking back passenger-side door. I noticed the wheel well had telltale deer hair mashed all along the side. Poor thing. I felt sorry for both the deer and me.
For now, while I’m sort of homebound, I am trying to learn patience while I wait. Deer beware; I’ll be up and running soon.
(“The end of a matter is better than its beginning, a patient spirit is better than a proud spirit.” Ecclesiastes 7:8)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.