Last week we returned home to witness an explosion so large that I expected to hear the fire department in town start calling in the crazy volunteer trucks and head out that direction. What followed, though, was more explosions. They lasted for hours, shaking our house, thundering in our chests. They went into the night and started again the next afternoon.
We live near a lot of fireworks, somewhat near some mining operations and definitely amidst people who may get drunk one weekend and decide to play with that box of dynamite they snuck off of the worksite, so who knows what went on. We’ve never heard mining, we know fireworks when we hear them (and none happen in the day or this close by). I asked around, to no avail. A message on the local e bulletin board netted me two other curious citizens and one mental case. Reporters from the cities nearby didn’t know or care why we were hearing these tremendous blasts in the middle of nowhere.
I guess if terrorists want to play on American soil, they should do so in a rural area. We’ve had full on gun battles out here among the quiet fields. Everyone simply ignores the noise and never asks questions, even though they’ll be all up in your business about anything remotely personal.
We didn’t pursue it by going out to track down the origin. You can drive for miles out here and sometimes there are roads that way, sometimes not. Sometimes you end up like my brother, confronted by armed gunmen down a remote gravel road and find they are reluctant to allow you to leave now that you’ve seen them. I don’t really want to find the person playing with high explosives, thanks.