An interesting thing is
happening on Route 193, which goes through Great Falls, Virginia.
Rats! I only wrote one
sentence, and I made two mistakes in it. First of all, although it
is technically Route 193, signs have sprung up telling us that it is
“Virginia’s Byway” — “The Byway,”
for short.
And Virginia’s
second-snootiest city (McLean is the first, for you trivia buffs) is
now being referred to on actual signs as “The Village.”
The official name for you Plebeians is still Great Falls, mind you.
It is only those lofty souls who live there and we lowly twerps who
are allowed to stop at the Subway there on our way home from the
temple who are allowed to bandy that sacred name.
We who are in the in group know that Great Falls, Virginia, is not just your basic lowly town.
Anyway, an interesting
thing is happening on “The Byway,” which runs through
“The Village.” Suddenly, an influx of wooden woodland
creatures has been springing up willy-nilly along fences and gates
and anywhere else that will take a nail or a bolt.
The first fake wooden
woodland animals appeared on the “The Byway” signs. One
of the “The Byway” signs suddenly sported a 3-D wooden
cardinal, which was not only quite recognizable but was also quite
appropriate because cardinals are also the state bird of Virginia.
(The cardinal is the state bird of seven states, so Virginia does not
get a medal for originality.)
The original unoriginal cardinal on one of “The Byway” signs started an ominous trend.
But the “The
Byway” sign at the other end of The Byway got a
three-dimensional sign on it that was less distinguishable. It was a
blackbird, or maybe it was a raven, or maybe it was a crow. For all
I know, it could have been a grackle. It was not labeled.
Fine art seldom
comes with an explanation.
Soon after the first
two signs found wooden woodland birds perched on them, two more birds
perched on local signage. These landed on the signs at the Betty
Cooke Memorial Bridge, and once again one was quite recognizable and
the other was considerably less so.
The recognizable bird
was not a cardinal this time. It was a gray owl with unsettling
yellow eyes. It also had something fuzzy on the front that was
allegedly feathers, although it looked suspiciously like chest hair.
The owl, complete with spooky eyes and feathers or chest hair, had
been attached to the sign about two inches off to the side, as though
the sign were embarrassed to claim it.
Betty Owl’s yellow eyes could cause nightmares in small children. They could cause nightmares in certain adults, too. Adults like me.
The bird on the other
side was the crow-raven-blackbird-grackle, which caused and continues
to cause some confusion in the Kidd household. You see, we always
said, “Hi, Betty,” when we crossed the bridge. Now we
say, “Hi, Betty Owl,” when we cross the bridge going
east. What do we say when we cross the bridge going west? We never
say it the same way twice.
Is it, “Hi, Betty Crow?” or “Hi, Betty Blackbird?” or “Hi, Betty Something Else?” One never knows for sure.
With all the birds in
Virginia, one would think the bird installers could have come up with
something other than the black thing, especially considering they had
already put the black thing on another sign. Originality was not
high on the priority list of the people who installed the wooden
woodland creatures.
But not to worry!
Where the local officials dropped the ball, the Village residents
picked it up and are dribbling it all the way up The Byway.
Taste is not the
issue here. But of course we established that the moment Betty
Owl took her perch over the Betty Cooke Memorial Bridge, with her
spooky yellow eyes and the feathers that look like chest hair.
It did not take long
for a local denizen of The Village to join the fun. As we were
driving home from the temple one week, we noticed a huge flat fox
gracing somebody’s front gate. It looked as though somebody
had flattened a fox in a motor vehicle accident and traced its
outline on the pavement in chalk.
Then he had transferred
the chalk outline to wood and painted it bright red to be a permanent
remembrance of the kill.
We were thrilled. Our
drive down The Byway through The Village is a scenic one anyway, as
you would expect it to be. But now that one resident had broken the
ice, we expected to see souvenirs of anything the other residents
bagged on their drives up and down The Byway. Possums. Equestrians.
Garbage trucks.
Alas, the fox lasted
only a few weeks. Apparently the town council of The Village was not
amused. The village resident, however, was not to be denied. In the
place of the fox, he installed a miniature wheelbarrow. I would have
to take it down to see if it is indeed a working model, but I would
suspect it is fully functional. I would also suspect it could injure
you something fierce if it fell on your head.
The wheelbarrow that took the place of the fox. You may notice that a
twin to Betty Owl, complete with feathers or chest hair, is hovering
nearby to stand guard over the wheelbarrow.
The deer that watched Fluffy take pictures of the wheelbarrow was obviously a Mormon, as evidenced
by the “Modest is Hottest” crossed legs. Although this
deer has not yet been flattened in a motor vehicle accident, painted
a gaudy color, and nailed to a fence, its time may come.
Months went by. We
thought we had seen the end of the flattened fox. Then, just a
couple of weeks ago, we saw a familiar flash of red as we were
zipping up The Byway on our way home from the temple.
We could hardly wait
until we went to the temple the following week so we could confirm
our flat fox sighting. (Yes, it is apparent that Fluffy and I are
not spiritual giants, but if you are regular readers of this column
you knew that already.) We went down the road with bated breath.
And then … we forgot to look. We had to wait a whole nother
week.
But the following week
we did remember to look, and we were not disappointed. Way down at
the McLean end of The Byway, right at the end of the property of The
Madeira School, there it was. It was nailed to a fence that may have been on the
property of The Madeira School itself.
Here is the flat fox that used to be where the wheelbarrow now stands. The good news is that this
location is in McLean rather than in The Village, so the fox is in no
danger of being taken down and thrown away by the big shots in The Village.
The flat fox was just
as red and horrible and delicious as we remembered it. And it was in
McLean, not The Village, so it probably isn’t going anywhere.
This is good news. Of course, Betty Owl and Betty
Blackbird/Crow/Raven/Grackle and the beginning of The Byway are also
in McLean, so now I’m getting confused.
I’d better not
think about this anymore because my brain is starting to hurt. But I
do hope we are going to be seeing some more wooden woodland animals,
because Fluffy and I are enjoying them, no matter which town they
happen to inhabit.
Kathryn H. Kidd has been writing fiction, nonfiction, and "anything for money" longer than
most of her readers have even been alive. She has something to say on every topic, and the
possibility that her opinions may be dead wrong has never stopped her from expressing them at
every opportunity.
A native of New Orleans, Kathy grew up in Mandeville, Louisiana. She attended Brigham
Young University as a generic Protestant, having left the Episcopal Church when she was eight
because that church didn't believe what she did. She joined The Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints as a BYU junior, finally overcoming her natural stubbornness because she
wanted a patriarchal blessing and couldn't get one unless she was a member of the Church. She
was baptized on a Saturday and received her patriarchal blessing two days later.
She married Clark L. Kidd, who appears in her columns as "Fluffy," more than thirty-five
years ago. They are the authors of numerous LDS-related books, the most popular of which is A
Convert's Guide to Mormon Life.
A former managing editor for Meridian Magazine, Kathy moderated a weekly column ("Circle of Sisters") for Meridian until she was derailed by illness in December of 2012. However, her biggest claim to fame is that she co-authored
Lovelock with Orson Scott Card. Lovelock has been translated into Spanish and Polish, which
would be a little more gratifying than it actually is if Kathy had been referred to by her real name
and not "Kathryn Kerr" on the cover of the Polish version.
Kathy has her own website, www.planetkathy.com, where she hopes to get back to writing a weekday blog once she recovers from being dysfunctional. Her entries recount her adventures and misadventures with Fluffy, who heroically
allows himself to be used as fodder for her columns at every possible opportunity.
Kathy spent seven years as a teacher of the Young Women in her ward, until she was recently released. She has not yet gotten used to interacting with the adults, and suspects it may take another seven years. A long-time home teacher with her husband, Clark, they have home taught the same family since 1988. The two of them have been temple workers since 1995, serving in the Washington D.C. Temple.