The dead trees waited to be ignited by the smallest spark and seek their revenge.

 I live in a log cabin on an immense property. I’m not quite sure how many acres my property is, but let me tell you, its vast. I’ve never been asked to measure my property for the simple reason because there isn’t a single soul anywhere within a hundred miles of me, and I certainly have no intention of selling it.

People visit me occasionally, but I do not encourage them to do so. But once in a while, I’ll get someone drive onto my property to try and find out who lives here. That’s why I have a very long driveway, littered on both sides with the bones of animals that I’ve either shot or who have just died from old age. So, that unwelcomed visitors will eventually tire of not reaching the end of the driveway and let their imaginations grow wild to where they think the carcasses are of people who died years ago attempting the same trip.

I don’t correct them. Anyone who thinks that a human has four legs, isn’t worth talking to and certainly not someone I wish to try and connect to reality. They have shrinks in the cities who make a fortune doing that.

My log cabin was built in the early 1800s sometime, unfortunately nobody really knows. But what I do know is that when I bought it, it had no bathrooms. And now it does. Going to the bathroom in the middle of the night or on an extremely cold day in the woods didn’t appeal to me. Yes, I know I would stand at my bedroom window and piss out of it knowing that there was no one around. But I kinda stopped that one year when I had a realtor come and visit me, only because he was annoying me by calling 10 times a day to see if I would sell. He had met up with some rich family who wanted to downsize and move into the wilderness, after seeing the TV programme, ‘Yellowstone.’ I never did get the reason why moving into the wilderness, where your next-door neighbour doesn’t exist, aligns with downsizing. But I’m digressing, as always.

Anyway, the last time he called I thought, I know how to get rid of him and I answered and said “Mr Jones, your persistence has paid off.” No, it hadn’t but how else do you get an idiot’s attention.

“I’ll be right out there,” he replied and hung up the phone. I had to call him back and tell him to spend the night here, so he could actually let his clients know what it really was like living out here. He was eager to do that, with I’m sure Dollar signs revolving in his head. Anyway, he showed up. He was actually a nice old man. I drove him around in my golf cart to see what he thought of my property. He loved that. “Play golf a lot?” he asked a couple of times.

I replied, “whenever I can get a tee off time.” He was not quite sure what to make of that, so he shut up.

“My clients will love this property.” He said more than once. I have to admit, I’d forgotten what my property was like. There was a lake on it, and a mountain and a pristine stream filled with trout. “Fish a lot?” he asked me a few times.

“Whenever I get hungry,” I told him and that shut him up.

“I don’t see any cattle on your property,” he once said as we bumped up and down in my golf cart.

“I don’t have any,” I told him and I was prepared for his answer, but he decided it wasn’t worth it. “All dead,” I told him when he was quiet for a time.

“How do you get food in here?”
“I drive to the local Aldi,” I replied adding “It’s about 550 miles from here.” I could see him changing his mind.

Anyway, we had a wonderful dinner which I cooked on the grill outside and then I noticed a change in his demeanour. Probably going back to thinking it might work out for his clients. “I see you have a lot of dead trees on your property,” he said after his 5th glass of a very fine Cabernet.

“Yes, I do. Good wine isn’t it.” Yes, he was impressed by the wine. “You’re right. I get it flown in especially for me.”

“Flown in?” he was intrigued and I noticed his speech slurring slightly. He got up from the table, “where’s the bathroom?” he asked.

“There aint one,” I told him. “You have to go outside.”
He did so. He came back in and was impressed with the plumbing. “No blockages,” I told him, “straight into the ground. Keeps the earthworms away.” He drank some more.

“I’m tired,” he finally said and I wished him a good night and showed him to his room.

It was during the night, I’m not sure what time, I got out of bed. My bedroom is on the second floor, because I had to go to the bathroom. Too much wine to drink. I opened my window and began to pee. I watched the golden arc reach for the stars and then in one glorious stream descend rapidly until I heard it land on something and a cry of, “hey, what are you doing?”
The realtor left before the sun rise and that was the last person who ever came by. And as for those dead trees everywhere. It’s the Japanese beetles that did all that damage. I guess they weren’t able to beat us in World War Two, so they sent their beetles over instead to finish up the job, and they are doing an incredible job of eating the trees from inside out. Yup, the dead trees waited to be ignited by the smallest spark and seek their revenge. Now you know why I don’t go travelling on my property. I’m afraid that one day when the golf cart goes over a twig it might snap and create a spark and then that would be the end of my nirvana.