A Stranger in the Woods

A tale of assumptions

May 01, 2024

I live in a double-wide trailer1 that was built in the early 90s. It sits on a slab foundation and it has a terrible layout. More concerning—the siding is crumbling and the window sills are rotten. It is nothing to write home about; it’s an absolute downgrade from the house we left in Omaha in 2020.

We chose this place not because of the house, but because of the property and the sense of seclusion it offers. My backdoor opens to 12 acres of woods that has a small system of trails already established by the previous owners. We live on the end of a long dirt road, with only one other couple currently living on it, a couple who’ve become like family to us. All this to say—the only people who should be roaming our woods would be no strangers, their presence would be known. They certainly wouldn’t be meandering directly behind our house on a weekday morning like the stranger I saw was doing last week.

I woke up later than usual that morning, had set my alarm 30 minutes past my norm. I rolled out of bed and I brushed my teeth. As I rounded the corner out of the bathroom something caught my attention. A blob of white amongst the brown trees, too high up to be the tail of a deer. I squinted and the blob moved, and I realized it was a person. With my gaze fixed on the figure and adrenaline rushing through my body, I side-stepped across the room to wake my husband.

“Ben, there’s somebody in our woods!”

His eyes opened, bleary with sleep, and I could tell that he had not registered what I had just said.

I repeat myself, more urgently, pointing towards the window. “There is somebody in our woods.”

He sprang out of bed and quickly put on his shoes. He rushed to don a sweater, pulling it on backwards in his haste. He called for Hal, our Rottweiler, and they slipped out the front door. Ben started saying commands to Hal, trying to make his presence known. He walked to the backyard, closed Hal in on the deck, then made his way into the woods. As Hal barked away, Ben shouted to the stranger, “Excuse me, can I help you?”

I don’t hear the rest of the conversation, but I watch as Ben walks with the stranger out of the woods. When he comes back inside, he explains it was a woman who just moved up the road. Her landlord had told her the place sat on 9 acres, but he had failed to specify where the property lines were. She had assumed the trail was part of it, did not see our house apparently.

I feel abuzz with anxiety, so I leash up the dogs to walk off some jitters. The woods are too wet and muddy after recent storms. I decide to take the road instead. As I crest the hill towards the lake, I notice a man and a dog I’ve never seen before lurking in the parking area of my (country) neighbor’s home.

I walk quickly, hoping the man will leave before my (slightly reactive) dogs notice. He doesn’t budge though, instead he puts the leash down, moving away from his dog slowly. This catches my dogs’ attention and they begin to bark ceaselessly, pulling me towards the stranger.

“Excuse me, sir,” I yell, trying to make my voice heard over the noise of the crashing waves of Lake Superior. He does not answer.

I try again, shouting the words louder this time. “Excuse me, sir!” He glances in my direction but does not answer.

“Sir, this is private property!”

Finally, he responds. “I know. I work for the owner of the building.”

I suddenly realize that the man is the groundskeeper, a stranger I’ve heard about but have never met.

I apologize quickly, explain how there had recently been a strange man training his dog off leash here. When my neighbor, an older woman who lives alone, asked him to kindly leave her property he refused and cussed her out. I tell him how I assumed that he was the same man.

The wind drowns out his reply and I’m too embarrassed to ask him to repeat what he's said so I apologize again and walk swiftly back home.

Later, I re-tell the day’s events to my family. I crack jokes about how when I spotted the stranger in the woods, I felt like the day was about to turn into an episode of Dateline. I bemoan about how I feel like an asshole for my assumption of the groundskeeper. I try my best not to think of how much my sense of privacy has shriveled since I rolled out of bed.

My deer neighbors eating breakfast in my backyard :)

~Editor’s note: Listen, I don’t *love* this essay and quite frankly would’ve happily let it live in my notebook forever but one of my intentions for April was to publish two newsletters and in order to make that happen, I had to put my longing for perfection to the wayside. I’m proud of myself for accomplishing that goal and am setting the intention to publish another two in May. I have quite a few ideas rumbling around in my head that make me giddy and I’m excited to share them with you soon!

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