Jackwagons Beware!

Woodhaven is on a hill out in the boonies. There is one road that serves as the trunk of the tree of private roads that branch out all over the hill to homes tucked away in "I vant to be alone" pockets. That one road is handy when giving directions. It can be limiting, though, when a fallen tree blocks it in a windstorm or when new piping is being installed for two weeks and counting. Much longer and I think I will be adding the "STOP" and "SLOW" flaggers to our Christmas card list.

The one road in and out, though, has allowed the evolution of a hill-wide communication system. Everyone on the hill has to stop at the same stop sign at the bottom of the hill to go anywhere of note. So that stop sign has become a community bulletin board of sorts. Anything we all need know -- all 150ish homes or so -- gets posted there on homemade signs using cardboard, Sharpies, and packing tape.

About a week or so ago, a really scary notice appeared. It warned of a dangerous burglar who carried a rifle and rode around on a red dirt bike. More concerning, the word "stalked" was used and there were photos from a security system taken in the bright sunshine, including one of the burglar peering through a porch window.

My California suburban self would have wondered what sort of idiot would wander around in broad daylight with a rifle. My living in the hinterlands with rednecks self thought it was a brilliant cover because, well, pretty much everyone here has firearms and it was hunting season. If the guy had been fully decked in camo, nobody would have thought twice about seeing him skulking around in the woods with a rifle.

After seeing the sign, I came home and secured every securable possible. I breathed deeply in the unexpected protection of a bunch of manly contractors with crowbars and power tools streaming in and out of our bathroom remodel while Rob was running errands. And, naturally, I hopped online and went to work trying to find more information.

It wasn't long before I found several threads on Facebook. Gotta love a small town, a well-connected community of neighbors, and the web of social media. With prickly panic, I realized we were pretty much in the hit zone and a second burglary had happened a couple of miles away. People were sharing the suspect's photos and description with great speed. And word was getting out far beyond our hill.

As I read the comments on the threads, I wanted to hug my redneck neighbors. Each and every one of them. I suddenly understood that the prolific "NO TRESSPASSING" signs that I don't even notice anymore are not just a decorator item.  They reflect an intensely held value out here. I realized without a doubt, this guy was going to be caught and soon.

"Keeping the gun close by for sure"

"Getting my shotgun out."

"I'm ready. He's not getting out of my house alive"

"If my goats don't get him first, I have a [deer hunting] tag I didn't fill this year. Yet."

"I'm pretty sure the cops will be too late to arrest this guy. Folks in the country do not mess around with jackwagons like that. Boom.....phone call."

Sure enough, less than 36 hours later an update was posted on both Facebook and at the stop sign. Thankfully someone a little less trigger-happy took action.

"SUSPECT CAUGHT!!! Deputies arrested suspect who is in jail on multiple charges. Thanks to all the tips received, lead directly to conclusion."

Alarm systems, security cameras, weaponry, men with power drills and tile saws...all can be very reassuring for one's personal safety. But the power of community and communication blows them all to smithereens.