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Deer Strike

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Around 4:30 we got back into the car. I was not going to see the ocean, as I had hoped. No time. I wanted to get home before midnight. It always amazes me how easy it is to miss the beauty of places known for their beauty. You have to turn off the main thorougfare which is always Rite Aids and MacDonald's and superduper supermarkets, none of which one pictures when going to Kennebunkport or Biddeford. I think of tranquil, sun-specked waters and stony beaches.

Going back to Carolyn's only took something over an hour, which was what it should have taken us going down. But, once I let her off, I had three more hours in the car before home. Generally, I like long drives as it is time stolen to process events that sometimes otherwise are lost in the collision of events that comprise my life. So I was thinking about all that had happened that day, being in Carolyn's revolutionary home, and soon again being among a lot of people of a different mindset but who were excited to greet this member of the 2nd Maine Militia. And Joshua had told me about an artist's collaborative he and his partner are about to start in an old mill building in Biddeford, space for artists and art events and readings such as this one. All things to support the arts, which is such good news in a bad economy.

About an hour into it, somewhere near Ossipee, it was just like everyone says, all of a sudden she was right in front of me, standing still across the center line. I saw her eyes, she appeared to be trying to decide what to do, but there wasn't even time to swerve, I immediately hit her, crack, crunch and it was over. I can't believe that in all these years of driving these roads, I have never hit a deer but there it was, it had happened. Another doe lurched toward the road, as if wanting to come to the stricken's rescue but then she shot back into the woods. I pulled over, shaken. Fortunately, it was a very lonely stretch of road, no cars coming either way. It was also pitch dark. If my car was a mess, I couldn't see.

I dialed 911 on my cell phone. I wasn't sure where I was, it was just road and woods, no landmarks, which they asked for. No problem, within seconds, the deep-voiced dispatcher was able to pinpoint my exact location by tracking the GPS that's in my cell phone. A loss of privacy is a help in times like this. They asked me to wait right there and a car would come. As I sat there, I remembered the awful story of a friend driving these roads some years ago in a big old car in the summer, windows down. They hit a deer but didn't think anything of it and kept going until several miles down the road, they noticed a little stream of blood trickling down around their feet. They pulled over and got out. The deer's head was in the back seat. Other stories like that came to mind while I sat waiting for the policeman.

The police car came from the other direction, flicking on his blue lights when I was within sight and making a u-turn to position himself behind my car. The officer was a nice young man with a shaved head and a helpful smile. The deer was gone, too. It seemed almost as if it hadn't happened. But it did. I can't imagine the deer could have lived through that but maybe she was off somewhere in the woods, licking her wounds. Maybe she was beside the road. It was too dark to see much of anything but she was not in the middle of the road, as I had assumed. "They're pretty resilient," the officer said, with assurance. With his bright police car spotlights and his big handheld flashlight, he and I walked around it, carefully inspecting my car -- no sign of anything! A small scratch perhaps, no blood. It was a good half hour before I resumed my journey home.

I eased a Mozart piano concerto CD into the slot and soothed myself with that amazing music the rest of the ride home. I got home around 9:30. The dogs were ecstatic to see me and after walks and a bit of play and a chicken sandwich, eaten standing up -- there had been no time or desire to stop for dinner -- I went directly to bed, thinking about the deer in the woods and hoping she was as unscathed as my car.