Take to the Highway?

With apologies to James Taylor

We spend a lot of time on the road. Because I am usually the passenger, I get to spend more time taking in the sights. My Taller Half usually drives and manages the music, when we can find a good station. We like to take country roads whenever we have a chance. There’s something lovely about a red clay road flanked by emerald pastures, seen from a lonely two-lane blacktop dappled by sunlight filtering through the trees.

When we are on a deadline, we take the larger roads and highways. Lately, we’ve noticed an increase in roadkill. We’re not sure why. When we went to the Big City a few days ago, MTH mentioned the problem. “Let’s make a bet. I bet we see seven roadkill animals before we turn off this road.”

I was baffled. I tried to calculate roadkill per mile based on recent experience. I had nothing. “Okay.”

For the rest of that stretch of road, we watched the pavement. I would rather have looked at the cows, horses, goats, and donkeys in the fields on either side. On that route, we pass a particular plot of wetland surrounded by trees, and usually the trees are covered in cattle egrets. We took a break from the death tally to consider the birds.

MTH asked, “How many birds do you think we will see?” He is one of the most observant people I have ever met. I never do well in these games.

“Forty-five.

“Forty-five? Be serious!”

When we passed the wetland area, there was not a single white bird in sight. It was early, and there’s a landfill across the street.

“They must be at breakfast,” MTH said. I never did find out how many he would have guessed, but it would not have been zero, I’m sure.

Our conversation meandered as it does. “Didn’t you tell me the actor who played Aragorn ate roadkill?” I asked. MTH knows more facts about music or movies and things related than anyone I know.

When we got to the end of the road, there were six bona fide flattened animals. There was a seventh mass of something that was questionable, but it was a beautiful morning, so I gave it to him.

Both MTH and I love animals. We mourn for those who don’t make it across the road. We’ll stop to help turtles across the road if we can do it safely. Once, MTH passed a beautiful cat, recently hit on the side of the road not far from some houses. He stopped to check on it, but it was no longer alive. He didn’t want the owner to come home and find him after many cars had hit him, so he moved the kitty to rest in a place in the grass by the butt end of a guard railing, where he thought they would find their pet in a less gruesome state. He still talks about that cat: a large, lovely orange and white male, a type we call a Creamsicle cat after MTH’s favorite ice cream bar. We’ve even discussed ways to reduce the problem. I suggested the counting was a bit gruesome.

MTH said, “Until Frith grants the ability to all of His creatures to avoid hrududus when crossing roads, the counting will have to continue.” I read Watership Down in eighth grade. I remember there were rabbits, I liked it, and it was sad. He remembers all.

These little observation games pass the time and steer the conversation away from politics or COVID or other equally mournful or agitating things. I prefer counting the cars, er, hrududus on the highway from the overpass or guessing how many days without an accident at the lumber mill — both of which require taking a country road. The traffic is lighter, the views are better, and the lumber mill smells much better than the landfill!

Afterword

Hours after I finished writing this, MTH was driving home and watched in horror as a young Creamsicle male cat of about 10 weeks dashed in front of an oncoming car. The driver didn’t stop to check on the animal. Maybe the driver didn’t even notice, though the cat wasn’t very small. MTH turned around and pulled over to check on the poor kitten. It was clear from the condition of the kitten’s head that he died quickly. Not knowing where the kitten lived, he grabbed a pair of exam gloves, the kind he uses when he fills up the car, and a couple of cardboard boxes. He scooped the little guy up and brought him home. We gave him a private burial and a name — Cinnamon. There were tears. I said a prayer for peace and comfort for the kitten’s family and for my gruff, tender-hearted beloved to the heavenly Father who feeds the birds of the air and clothes the grass of the field. It was the best we could do.

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do when an animal runs out in front of your car. I understand that. But we see cars speed down our little neighborhood road like it’s a highway. People rushing to work, people rushing home from work, people movers taking folks without cars to medical appointments, even the neighborhood school bus. There are animals here — cats, dogs, occasionally deer. Once a neighbor caught a bobcat on his deer cam. That same neighbor has a precious little girl about four years old. When you travel those neighborhood streets, country roads, and highways, please drive carefully. Keep your eyes on the road and not your phone. Keep your speed at a reasonable rate. The life you save may be your own. Or a child’s. Or a beloved pet’s.

Rest in Peace, Cinnamon.

For the bliss of the animals lies in this, that, on their lower level, they shadow the bliss of those–few at any moment on the earth–who do not ‘look before and after, and pine for what is not,’ but live in the holy carelessness of the eternal now.

George MacDonald