Many years ago a radio network colleague came into the newsroom one Friday night all excited. She and her well-known musician husband, confirmed city dwellers, were going to rent a car the next day and explore the countryside. On Monday, I asked how the excursion had been. Her always cheerful expression turned into a horrified scowl. “We turned around and came right back. The rats up there are three feet long!” They had seen one crossing the road at night.
It’s a mystery. Yesterday, as I do from time to time, I stopped in at Coonskin Crossing, the country gas station and convenience store in Amesville. Looking around and as always wondering what it was about a Chinese virus that doubled the price of potato chips, I saw something I didn’t expect.