Deer in the road

Fall colors: red leaves and blue sky.

It’s that time of year again when driving, especially at night, makes me a little nervous because of concern over deer in the road.

Deer are plentiful in our area year-round. They often visit our yard, and we see them in other places in the neighborhood. We enjoy their presence.

 

This is a poor photograph, but it's one I took through the window at night in September. The deer set off the motion lights in the yard. If I open the door to go out and try for a better photo, they run.

But the big fear is that we’ll hit one while driving.

According to the Virginia DMV, most deer-related accidents in Virginia occur in the fall months, October through December.

I was part of those statistics five years ago, in December 2009.

I was driving back to Altavista from Forest, which is in Bedford County, a neighboring county. The back roads I took were curvy and sometimes narrow, but the route cut miles off the trip and provided lovely views.

It was about 10:30 in the morning. I had seen a deer standing in a yard as I passed, so I had a fresh reminder of their presence. I was just tooling along, under the speed limit. I wasn’t listening to the radio. I wasn’t eating. I was just driving.

And it still happened.

My car hit something as I came around a curve. I saw a deer flashing away from my car. The hood of my car was crumpled.

I was shocked, but I managed to find a place to pull over. A kind couple turned their pickup around and came to check on me. We looked at my car. Deer hair covered the hood. Everything in the front seemed pushed towards the front seats. It was a mess.

The couple stayed with me until the state trooper arrived. Then Larry arrived.

He said as he walked up to my car, the trooper turned to him and said, “She’s all right. But I think she’s more upset about the deer than the car.”

“That would be right,” Larry said to him.

And I was upset. I felt terrible that I had hit the deer. Apparently it had jumped a fence and then tried to clear the road. The trooper speculated that hunters were out with dogs, running the deer.

I was lucky. I wasn’t hurt and my car, though heavily damaged, wasn’t totaled. I was especially nervous driving for a while, but that settled down.

What I kept thinking was, I did everything I could to avoid an accident. I wasn’t speeding. I wasn’t distracted. And I still hit a deer.

That notion that we can do everything “right” and still have trouble is sobering, and not an easy one to accept when you have an uneasy relationship with uncertainty, as I do.

After the crash, my boss gave me some little whistle-like gadgets to put on the front fender. They are supposed to help prevent deer from running out in front of your car. I don’t know if they actually work, but I was willing to try them, and they’re still on my car.

And that idea that bad things can happen anytime? I have to accept it. I have to get used to it. All I can do is my best to drive carefully. That’s all any of us can do.

Do you see wildlife near the highways where you live?

Community

The road from Altavista to Evington is a narrow, sometimes very curvy two-lane highway, 10 miles of country road.

For a long time, I was never actually sure when I’d arrived in Evington. It’s more of a zip code than a defined place. But the longer I live in this part of the county, the more defined it becomes.

I visited Evington Monday evening to cover a community meeting for the newspaper. One of my regular beats is county government, and one of the issues facing government is how to help people in the county who are experiencing well water problems.

The county has come up with some options to consider, and the meeting was to get some early feedback from residents who would be affected by any decision made.

I’ve already done several stories on the issue, and I looked forward to attending this meeting.

But it wasn’t just the meeting that drew me. Part of the reason I looked forward to going to Evington was because I enjoy the drive.

I was behind the wheel Monday night, so I couldn’t take many photos.

But I noticed the hay and corn fields, the way the land rolled along in hill after hill.

I noticed the round bales of hay out in the field or, in one place, lined up beside the barbed wire fence that ran parallel to the road. I thought of my fellow bloggers who are busy raking and baling hay.

I noticed how the early evening sunshine still lit most of the fields, while the trees at the edges were growing darker green as the light faded.

I arrived at the intersection where the Evington post office is and turned left. That’s where the road becomes very curvy, almost turning on itself as it weaves down to the railroad crossing. 

Then I was at the building where the meeting was held.

Field in Evington, Virginia

I was there for over an hour and a half, but the time flew by. I listened to people express their concerns, for themselves and their neighbors. I saw people from all walks of life, from different backgrounds, discuss common concerns.

I felt community.

One of the blessings of my job is the way I have become more of a part of the community. I’ve met people I never would have met, chatted about the mundane, asked questions about the serious, struggled to capture the essence of a story for the readers.

I’m an introvert. I tend to shy away from anything resembling a crowd. I have depression that sometimes makes me question my reason for living.

But times like Monday night remind me that I’m part of a community—really, more than one community—and part of my purpose lies in those communities. That’s a comfort.

It was a comfort, too, to step outside at the end and look at the beautiful land around me becoming dark. I caught a photo of the red rail car that sits beside the long graveled driveway and then drove back along the same narrow roads. I couldn’t see the fields as clearly, but I knew they were there. I knew the people working hard behind those fields were there, somewhere.

And I went home.

On the road to Roanoke

The road is narrow and curvy and hilly, but the canopy of green trees over it makes it seem safer than it did when I drove it every day.

Larry and I are on our way to Roanoke, and we are driving on first one road then another that used to be familiar to me.

Some of that sense of familiarity returns as we go further along the roads and we start passing landmarks.

The garage with its collection of old Volkswagens. The church at the intersection. The place I ran out of the road in the rain one dark morning. The convenience store exactly 20 miles from home. The hill I tried to make it down in the ice. I had to turn around and try again the third time.

On this Saturday trip, I’m talking with Larry about this and that, but I’m feeling the anxiety of years ago.

Nearly six years ago in late September, I took a job with a newspaper in Roanoke. I thought I would enjoy the job enough that the long commute on lonely roads would make up for it.

I edited letters to the editor and commentaries, and I worked in the newspaper library.

Every morning I left the house by 6:15 to get to work by 7:30. I worked until 4 p.m., and then drove home. If I hit the lights right in the city and didn’t get behind a line of traffic on the two-lane roads, I could get home a little after 5.

Late that fall into the winter, I started having what I found out later were panic attacks and severe anxiety. I became afraid to drive. I clenched the wheel all the way to Roanoke and all the way back home, afraid I was going to wreck.

I did wreck in late October. I wasn’t speeding, but I was going too fast for the wet roads one morning, and my car whirled around and off the road. I thought I was going to flip and actually gave myself over to that idea. I didn’t flip but stopped a few feet away from a utility pole. I wasn’t hurt and I was able to drive away from the accident.

But that just heightened my fears of driving and my anxiety in general.

I went to my family doctor and he tried me on different medications. They just seemed to make things worse. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t sit still.

I sat at my computer at work and had to will myself to open up a file and edit. I was so afraid of not doing a good job.

I was so afraid.

I finally turned in my resignation and left the job in February, feeling unable to continue the long drive and the work.

But that was years ago. I eventually got help from a specialist, a psychiatrist. I got on the right medication. I received therapy. I was in a much better place now.

I remind myself of that as I ride along with Larry in his truck on Saturday. I have an opportunity to enjoy the day with my husband. And I’m going to do that.

We chat about things, comment on the scenery, the houses and horses and farmland we pass. Then we concentrate on finding our way around a city that we’re not as familiar with as cities closer to where we live.

Our first stop is a parts store to pick up a lawn mower guard which Larry couldn’t find in Lynchburg or Danville.

Then we ride around and find a restaurant to eat. I had found Wildflour Café on the Internet, and I want to eat there because they have a variety of foods available, including vegetarian selections.

Centerpiece on the table.

The food is great, and the atmosphere is relaxed. I eat a burger made of black beans and corn, along with sweet potato fries. Larry gets a regular burger and fries. We share an appetizer of fried green tomatoes with a chipotle-like sauce.

Then we drive home. We talk about what we see. We ride in silence. We talk some more. It is peaceful. It is OK.

Have you ever revisited a place or situation that used to cause you anxiety?