A Horse Thief Among Us

I have been violated.  And to make matters worse the crime occurred at my beloved mountain retreat.  A place where neighbors are supposed to look out for one another. Unlike the city where life is dog eat dog and your tenement mates are more likely to screw, than succor you.  In fact the locals here in the Catskills pride themselves on their neighborliness and esprit de corps.  And  for the most part I have found this to be true.  Except for my next door neighbor.  Allegedly.  For I have no proof.  Except for Tammy and my other neighbors who agree with my conclusion.  Granted, the alleged perpetrator is renting the house next door so he may not feel the same camaraderie as the rest of us.  He is the second renter to inhabit that house and the first one was very disorderly as well. So one may draw their own conclusions based on this small sampling size.  But I have come to the conclusion that rural America cannot lay claim to a virtue of harmonious living that they aver is not found among city dwellers.  People are people and there are good and bad found throughout all population densities.

It was a crime of opportunity.  A crime, I am convinced, that the culprit felt was victimless.  We were not around, and besides, we are just some rich yuppies with a second home in the mountains who won't know the difference.  Of course this is all speculation but the only way to cleanse oneself after such a trespass is to try and understand the mind of the miscreant.  What was taken from me is not some bauble I purchased at a craft fair.  A knickknack sitting on my front porch for the amusement of visitors to my cabin.  A stolen trinket would not have been so hellacious.  I would have assumed (for that is what I am doing) it was some crazy kids sowing their wild oats.  That I can forgive.  No, this stolen property is something I expended sweat and a great deal of energy on.  A utilitarian necessity of life in a mountain cabin.  Something that one hundred years ago could have meant the difference between life and death during a long, cold mountain winter.

Here is a photo of the crime scene.  When I left the cabin three weeks ago the rack was full.  It is now two- thirds empty:

That is correct.  I am totally bent out of shape because firewood was stolen from me.  A sizable amount of firewood. That I quartered and stacked.  And the only way this amount could have been stolen by a "visitor" to Woodland Valley is if they backed their car into my driveway and hauled the wood up the stairs.  Very doubtful.  Especially since the campground at the end of the road is closed and who else would have taken it?  My neighbor, who rents, that's who.  Casually strolled over during the week when we were not there and helped himself.  How can I be so sure?  My other neighbor (who came to the same conclusion as Tammy and I) noted smoke coming from his chimney during two unexpected evening frosts and he has NO wood pile whatsoever.  Huh.

In all fairness, this is pure conjecture and I have not yet decided how I will confront my neighbor.  But rather than solely stew in a blog post I must be eyeball to eyeball with him when I broach the subject of my missing wood.  In the meantime, Tammy has placed the following sign on the wood rack:

By way of explanation, the actual owner of the house lives in Finland. And the part about the chimney blowing up is because my other neighbor suggested I drill a hole in some of the wood and put black powder in it.  That way the thief will blow up his chimney.  An amusing, but ultimately unsatisfactory conclusion to this affair.  Stay tuned.