Leaving Pulaski

We left Pulaski on Friday evening. We had planned to leave around 3 PM, but lost a couple hours hanging out with the animals and taking pictures of Karen's farm. Putting all the belongings we stashed in their basement back into the van took about an hour. Making the iced coffee and saying goodbye took another hour. So we left in time to get to wherever we were going in the dark. The address to the next farm from where we were in Pulaski on Google maps took 2 hours. But since we drove the wrong direction for an hour, it added an extra two to the trip...

(note: Never tell your girlfriend that it's her fault that you drove the wrong way.)

On the phone, Paulino may have been a mafioso or a southern farmer -- we couldn't tell. The directions he gave us seemed vague upon hitting the back roads near his farm. He told us to drive down a dirt road for 2 1/2 miles. He'd "meet us at the church on the left."

This seemed suspicious to me. It was now dark. Erin was gripping my arm tighter and tighter while the gas gauge moved closer and closer to E. The road was in rough shape. There was debris all over the road. Erosion caused gullies. Every minute we would drive over what we later found out were cattle-guards. In the dark, it felt uncomfortable. We could imagine the wheels falling through, being stuck in the middle of nowhere Tennessee -- wait, surely, Paulino would help us. How could we contact him? There was no cell phone coverage.

Finally, after Erin and I made up scenarios, depicting the horror stories about Paulino and "the church," we had made it to the abandoned white church and saw his red SUV up to the left. I rolled down my window and creeped towards him. He sped away and waved his finger, signaling to follow. Erin and I looked at each other in terror. We were hoping to get a chance to ask where we were, but down the road he went. And down the road we followed.

A collective gulp between the two of us.

"Why wouldn't you let me get a handgun," I asked.

"I don't know... maybe you should get one," Erin replied quietly.

"Too late now."

The road worsened. A creek. In the dark it could have been 4 feet deep. Paulino continued on. Would the van make it through? It was rear-wheel drive and could manage to get itself stuck in a puddle on the wrong day. We decided to drive through following the lights ahead in the distance.

The headlights illuminated a metal structure with an old, 1970's-style Chevy truck. I noticed the bed was filled with trash. Out popped a short, pudgy Sicilian man with a very obvious New Orleans accent.

"Paulino?"

A collective sigh between the two of us.

(note: prounced "nu-owrlins" -- not "new or-leens")

We made it.