We went for a run today in Danville, down the Danville-Peacham road. For mid-march, the weather was exactly normal: 35°, bright blue sky, deep snow in the fields and the woods and a light breeze from the south. We is me and my dog, Spanky.
As we rounded a curve we saw flashing lights up the hill; an emergency response truck, a fire-truck, a state cop, a tow truck and a passenger car. As we got closer, the tow-truck pulled away with the last of two smashed cars while the other trucks started the process of packing up and backing out and turning around to head back.
In the middle of the road, directing traffic, was a man dressed in civilian clothes with an overcoat, hat and mittens. He watched us running towards them and when we were within 100ft (I still couldn't recognize him) I heard him call out "Spaaaaankyyyyyyy!". Her ears pricked up and we ran to him. It was the minister from the Methodist church.
Apparently the fellow who delivers meals to shut-ins and the elderly got hit pulling out of a driveway. He couldn't see over the snowbanks. I guess he'll be okay, just shaken up, but I immediately emailed my in-laws in Cincinnati to let them know (my father-in-law is a 'guest' minister at the church in the summer). Within minutes they'd found out the details and spread the word to other church members.
Spanky still couldn't get over that anyone in the middle of the road would know her name.
Meals On Wheels
