CSI: Farm Edition

Okay. So. Here's the deal. We were going to move the swather today, but that didn't happen because it rained down where we we're going to move it. When I found out that wasn't going to happen, I went to the airport and picked up my girlfriend! I had found a fuel leak before I left and my dad fixed that while I was gone. Chistine and I came back to the ranch and ate lunch. We had some other work to do on the swather, so we went back after lunch to do that. Dad had gone out to the cow pasture out north with a tool we needed, so we were stuck waiting for him. Around 2, we got a call from him saying that he had managed to get the truck stuck in the mud out there. We unhooked the new 7130 John Deere tractor from the baler and took some chains up north to pull him out.

On the way there, we saw a pickup parked in the approach where we'd just cut hay (and where I took those pictures of the adorable faun a couple days ago). It was blocking the entry to the field, so I was angry at them for interfering with our operation. We slowed down to make sure they weren't drunk or having sex or something. I didn't see anyone inside, but Christine said to back up and take another look. I did, and thought there might be someone behind the driver's seat after all. I pulled forward again and we got out.

The first thing we noticed was that there were no licence plates on the vehicle. Suspicious. The next thing I did was get the .22 out of the pickup. I was worried the guy might be dangerous. I realized that wasn't going to work though; I couldn't effectively aim a rifle and open the door at the same time. Plus, my girlfriend convinced me that it might not be a good idea to No Country for Old Men this one. Those possibilities exhausted, I called 911 and reported a dark blue Dodge Ram 2500 with no plates. They asked me to look at the VIN but it was covered with a sheet of paper and I was still reticent to open the door of the vehicle to move it. They said they'd call back in a little bit and that an officer was on the way.

I wanted to make sure the guy wasn't in any immediate health risk; if he was drunk or otherwise in bad shape, I didn't want to just leave him there and wait for the cops. I walked up the pickup and stood in front of the hood (so I could duck down if he decided to pop up with a pistol or something). I knocked on the hood hard, but he didn't move. I grabbed the grill guard and shook it pretty hard; my reaction to Christine was "Yeah, he's stiff." I walked around to the driver's side and took a closer look at him. Through the driver's side window, I could see a slumped figure, his right hand toward the passenger seat and his back to the window. More significantly, I could see a distinct red patch with a hole in the middle; it was on his left side around heart level. Christine had been on the phone with my dad (letting him know why we weren't going to be there right away to tow him out), so I called him right back up and said, "This guy's fucking dead." My father was on the line with the sheriff at the time, so he told him the news.

The dispatcher called me back and confirmed the report of a gunshot wound. A few minutes later, the first Meade County sheriff (or deputy?) arrived, who happens to be related to me. He checked it out and, once some backup arrived, they took our statements. It got crazy: two or three Meade County sheriff outfits and two highway patrol cars and at least the one ambulance. It was only during this shindig that I even thought about taking pictures. I had the opportunity to get a picture of the body, I think, but I decided that I didn't even want that. I've always been opposed to that sort of voyeurism and I didn't want to be a total hypocrite. Plus, I didn't think it would have been respectful to him. Here's a few I took during this time:







Here's the freakiest part: the approach where the car was parked was here (at Rosilee Lane), across the street from a development with several hundred people in it who all drive by that spot every day. One of those residents had their statement taken that the car had been parked there since yesterday. He had been there at least 24 hours and no one from that complex even batted an eye or thought to approach the vehicle. Granted, they probably thought it was us who had parked there to work hay, but if nothing else it says something about city people in general: they drive by and don't ask questions. Admittedly, we had a reason to this afternoon, as it was on our property. But I stop by parked cars in the countryside all the time, regardless of whose property it's on. I guess I just never realized the clash of worlds that could be involved in such a stop.

After they took our statements, they said we could go. We took the rest of the trip up north and pulled my dad out of the field, went back to the swather, finished working on it, collected some wood from a basement, and spent the rest of the evening retelling the afternoon's events. They deputy--my relative--called me back up later that evening and said that if we have any needs after coming up on the scene that we should not hesitate to give them a ring. He said they have resources for that, which must mean psychological aid for people who've gone through potentially traumatizing situations. We'll see. It's too soon to tell right now whether I'll be having recurring nightmares or not.

My mom and brother both said that that had always been one of their worst nightmares, finding someone dead on our property. This sort of thing isn't without precedent; at least two of out other neighbors have stumbled on similar things. One was way worse; some Indians had raped a woman and stabbed her to death with broken beer bottles in a driveway just a couple miles north of us. This was not nearly as gruesome as that, and I don't expect to be permanently scarred, but it is the first non-funeral corpse I've seen.

Just another day on the ranch.