The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

We got a new neighbor recently who apparently thinks his mansion needs architectural lighting the way airport parking lots need sodium security. We live at the end of a dark road on the terminus of an isolated island, but my fellow escapee has decided to bring 5000 watts of candlepower to bear on the night. His place looks like a Hollywood mega-star’s palace, security lights and spotlights all glaring from our quiet little neighborhood. His driveway could be seen from the international space station and if we still had a shuttle, it would have no trouble landing here even in the fog.

If any of us in half a mile of this cone of light wanted to step out on a moonless evening to catch a glimpse of the Milky Way or the constellation Pleiades, fat chance, not with the searchlights beaming up from across the road. Whether paranoia drives this lighting strategy or vanity, none of us know. But the cosmos are gone from view, that we do know. One of the boyz wandered over to ask if maybe the lights could be diminished a bit, possibly just put in motion detecting lights that turn off after a burglar or a raccoon pass by, leave the ‘hood some darkness at night instead of a blazing artificial constant daylight. Naw, not gonna happen. My lights, my business, my rights.

I remember when Ruth next door installed a night light behind her house that shone right in our bedroom window. She lived alone and she was worried about prowlers, which is sort of understandable despite the fact that the only prowler in these parts back then was probably me. It took a few years but some fir trees finally blocked that light. And when Ruth asked me to cut down a few for her, I said no, they give me darkness once again, you’ll have to find someone else to cut them. Kind of hard hearted, I know, but I like seeing the stars. And I like not having lights shining into my bedroom at night. I didn’t move to the country to have searchlights blinding me at midnight.

My neighbor will eventually move on. If there’s one thing I’ve learned after four decades here, you can outlast the bastards. Anyone that nervous about the dangerousness of our neighborhood probably won’t last long in this jungle. What he needs is razor wire, security fences, burglar alarms and probably a Doberman behind the door. All I can say is it must be hard to fall asleep over there. And even then, the dreams must be frightening.