Rescued from the Mud

It’s my personality for my “eyes to be bigger than my stomach,” my artistic ego to be large, and my ability to say no to a possible photo nil regardless of potential consequences. In other words, one’s reach should be bigger than one’s grasp, or else what is a metaphor?

In any case, driving along a small Tuscan road in the late afternoon I saw a crumbling abandoned farmhouse in a bare field of Tuscan mud, down a long dirt and rock driveway. It would have been a long walk, and the drive way looked passable. So I turned my small rental car down the track.

Before long, it became clear that this might not be such a good idea. The track was deeply rutted, filled with running water, and muddy. I finally got to a place where it looked like I might turn around with care. I edged up the side of a bank, it turned out to be mud, and I was stuck. I could not rock my way out.

What to do? I called the emergency number that the rental car agency provided (although I had no idea how I’d describe where I was if they really could send assistance). It took a while to make my way through the menu system (I pressed 1 to indicate it was a roadside emergency!). Finally I got through to someone, who said an English speaker would call me back. I waited.

In the distance I saw two couples on motorcycles. I waved my hands, jumped up and down, and yelled for help. They cycled out to me, cursing the mud and water. Two of them helped me rock the car back and forth, and got me unstuck. I backed up all the way to the country road.

They spoke no English, and were obviously not pleased with getting their kit muddy, but they rescued me and were kind and gracious about it, and were true good Samaritans. For this I am grateful.

The Rescuers © Harold Davis
The Rescuers © Harold Davis

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