An Unhappy Sign
08 March 2015 | Texarkana, Texas
Jill
Matey and I took a walk yesterday on one of the many hunting access roads on the Army Corps of Engineers land around the Wright Patman reservoir, locally known as Lake Texarkana. Unlike the others we'd been on lately, this one had no gate blocking vehicle access now that hunting season is over. Since these are fairly remote dirt roads and I'd driven 40 minutes to get there, I decided Matey and I would walk it anyway. According to the map this one led about a mile and a half through a primitive camping area and ended at a boat launch.
I'd gone about a half mile down the road when I spotted this sign thumb-tacked to a tree. I went up to read it, first thinking it was some environmental or conservation group. Oh, not so. I had heard the KKK was still active; but here, in East Texas and with a website? Oh my. I took the sign down as a public service and to show my local friends for a laugh. As I continued to walk I wondered if there was any particular reason the sign had been posted on this road. And since the sign was crisp and new and since it had rained all day Wednesday and sleeted and froze early Thursday, I concluded the sign had to have been put up Friday or that morning. That gave me pause. What if the sign poster was up ahead on the trail? Well, a 65-year-old white grandmother shouldn't be a target of the KKK, but it made me uneasy and the woods, which are my favorite place to be, no longer felt welcoming.
Matey and I pressed on and we were both distracted by an armadillo that Matey found and chased. Matey followed, but did not attack it and chased it to a hideout. He left it and came galloping back to the road and me and I told him what a good dog he was. Eventually we made it to the end of the road and I was happy to see that no one was there. The road looped around a large tree in front of the primitive gravel boat launch. A second KKK sign was posted on that tree. Just after I pulled that sign down I heard a vehicle. I quickly stuffed the sheet into my pocket and called Matey to me. A man, probably close to my age, was at the wheel of a crew cab pick-up with camo-trimmed storage boxes built in to the bed. We said hi and he parked while Matey and I started back.
My plan was to stop at one of the concrete picnic tables that are provided at the campsites and eat the lunch I'd packed, read and rest my foot until it was time to go back (I've been dealing with plantar fasciitis for almost a year, now). I started my lunch, gave Matey some food and water and his daily Dent-a-Bone and tried to read. I still felt uneasy. What if the signs were posted because there was to be some sort of gathering of a local KKK group today? What if the man I'd seen was the first to arrive? So what, but what if others showed who wondered where their signs went? I gave up and started back. The woods were no longer a peaceful place for me. I considered how much more uneasy I'd be if I was black. It made me angry.
On the way out Matey found another armadillo. He chased this one into a hole, and refused to give up. He was running around the brush, squeezing under tangles and digging at the hole. After a few minutes of him ignoring my commands I waded into the brush and clipped his leash on him. Once we'd made it back to the road I kept him on the leash for a while. I heard the pick-up coming back and shortened Matey's lead to keep him out of the way. As the truck got close I stopped at the edge of the narrow road. The driver pulled up next to me, rolled his window down and spoke. After I got close enough to hear (it's tough to be a partially deaf Yankee in the south) I understood him to say, "Did the dog give out on you?" "Oh, no," I laughed, "he chased an armadillo down a hole and wouldn't leave it. That's why he looks like he does." I pointed to Matey whose belly and legs were wet and brown. The driver laughed, "I bet he gets a bath tonight." We said good-bye with smiles and he drove on.
I still didn't stay in those woods. I had no reason to think the man I met was associated with the Klan; 75% of the people in East Texas drive pick-ups and use camouflage as décor. But the signs had spoiled the walk for me. I'm an old unrepentant hippy. Why can't we all just get along, and in the words of Rob Lowe, "What's so funny about peace, love and understanding?"