We went camping this weekend out by the Brazos River in our usual secret spot. There are some big trees and hills and it is so peaceful out there.
The dogs even know it, they start whining to get out the camper when we get to that dirt road part that takes us into the woods.
There is one particular oak we park under and this time when we drove up, we noticed a rope with a noose hanging from it. Me, I had to go out in the dark and make sure the RV didn’t hit the low branches.
This tree and it’s new rope friend are backlit and it is really spooky. I have a friend who hung herself from a tree just like this a few years back and I couldn’t help but think about that.
My husband tossed this little step stool out the van and where does it land? Right under that rope. Then he shut the door for mosquitoes.
This tree with it’s low lying branches looks like it wants to give me a hug or something. Friendly looking tree. Like ones you’d see in a kid show with a face on it. I’m not really that spooked. Yet.
So later I’m out there alone in the dark lighting the pilot to the hot water heater when that rope starts talking me, “Come ‘ere, you, come ‘ere.”
And the pilot won’t light.
The stool joins in, “Step right up.”
The wind blows, the rope swings and the oak branches groan. I see my friend at the end of that rope. Then an outlaw with dusty cowboy boots and spurs. And a black man covered in blood.
But not me.
Finally the thing lights up. Whew.
I run inside. The next day when everyone is around and the rope is not verbal, I ask why the hell anyone would leave a rope in a tree like that. Somebody grabs the rope and uses it to climb up the tree. Oh. That somebody will light the pilot next time it is dark out.