You’d think they could come up with another word:

It’s bad enough that AARP emails us daily with new ways to pull tendons and cramp muscles, now the app for our generator is getting into the act, bragging about its activity.

But I’m getting ahead of myself …

A month or so ago, Farmer Gary made the following proclamation: “This house has a poltergeist.”

It had been a lively couple of days:

• Our dishwasher wouldn’t stop beeping and refused to finish the cycle until Gary lay prostrate on the kitchen floor and declared there was nothing wrong.
• Our television gave up the ghost after 20 years. (You have NO idea what it’s like training Gary in on a new remote-control; remember, he still struggles operating his flip phone.)
• We awakened one morning to a puddle of brown liquid on the floor by the pantry. No leaking soup cans, dripping ceiling, or oozing cooking appliances were to blame. The mystery remains unsolved to this day.
• The mini-split that cools and heats our “great room” started dripping again. Gary thought he’d fixed it a month earlier, but that was only temporary.

Luckily, the company that installed our whole-house generator in April was planning a return trip, so we asked them to take a look at the mini-split.

We soon had a full driveway:

The amiable workmen (one carried the title Comfort Advisor; honestly, I’d have preferred a Poltergeist Preventor) discovered a crack in the mini-split’s drip tray. Happily, the unit was still under warranty; we’re back to whole-house cooling just in time for summer to start.

All this talk of air-conditioning got Gary to reminiscing about one very hot summer on the farm:

The poltergeist, however, wasn’t yet satisfied. It had one more bit of mischief up its sleeve.

There is a sign on our narrow country road that clearly states, “No Trucks.” However, the sign cannot be seen until the driver has already turned onto our road and headed down a hill.

No shoulder on either side.

Ours is the first driveway on the road, about a half mile from the state road that continues past the farm and onward to the town of St. Meinrad. Past our driveway, the road winds tightly, with no sight of additional houses.

And so, a semi driver from Detroit listened to the call of the poltergeist one recent afternoon: Turn around here! There’s plenty of room!

Well, there wasn’t:

The noise I heard from inside the house was not pleasant. Like Winnie-the-Pooh stuck in Rabbit’s house with no way in or out, the cab was in the road and the semi-trailer was in our driveway.

Did I mention our little country road is the busiest county road in our county? Things got ugly quick.

The sheriff’s office sent a couple of officers. Traffic soon crept slowly one car at a time, one direction at a time.

Finally, a tow truck arrived. After two hours, we had us a convoy:

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect for Gary’s return from running errands in Evansville. He drove past the convoy into our driveway, and walked toward the vehicles to have a chat with the police and truck driver … just as they pulled away.

At long last, the poltergeist’s work here was done.

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