The Hood, by Kathy Williams, July 2002

Denhardt Road is a short cut from Hubbard Road to route 5. Half of this two mile winding country road passes through farmland. While the other is set in the middle of a small wooded area with trees on both sides of the road. This is my favorite part of the road.

It's always beautiful. You should see it in the fall. The colors are magnificent, reds, oranges, yellows, greens, and browns. Denhardt Road after it snows, reminds me of an old Bing Crosby movie. Snow draped trees, serene, picturesque, and lovely. In spring, the new leaves are a bright apple green color. Blossoms of white flowering shrubs emitting a sweet perfume. As for summer, the leaves are so dense they completely shade the pavement. Providing a dark, cool respite from the sun.

While quite enchanting, this road and the others near my house are not safe. You could be attacked. These attacks are unpredictable. Mostly taking place early morning or at dusk, and occasionally in the middle of the day. Who would have thought living on the out skirts of East Moline and Hampton I'd be so concerned. No one tells you these things when you are looking for a house. Realtors only point out the dangers within the city. They never tell you about the gangs in the country.

Yes gangs, we have two. They are known as the Turkeys and the Deer.

In January of 2000, I was driving my husband's burnt orange Volvo. All of a sudden the Deer Gang decide to cross the street in front of me. They didn't look both way, nor did they care that I had the right of way. No! They kept going. Of all the nerve! One huge buck apparently did not like Volvos, so he ran into the car and smashed up the front.

Stunned, but not hurt, I drove home and called the police. When the investigating officer came, he informed me that this was a clear case of hit and run. The officer found useless DNA samples (hair) on what was left of the grill, smiled, and said "You can't even tell this is a Volvo." He also stated that the Deer gang membership has increased tremendously and warned me to be careful.

Then there's the Turkeys. Every fall, this gang hold parties near the side of the road in a com field. They get high on corn and start playing chicken. Turkeys don't like Volvos either. One day they waited for me to come down the road. As I got close, that's when they decide to fly across the street to the next com field. Some like to strut slowly just to show me whose the boss. Luckily, I was able to stop in time. A little shaken up but OK. Well that day, I decided enough was enough!

Suspecting the Turkeys were from the hood, I went to Shady Knoll, Gene Denhardt's farm, and confronted him. (Just so you know, Denhardt road was named after Gene.) He admitted that the Turkeys were his homeys, but he was not responsibility for their behavior any more. They're adults. Gene appeared sympathetic about them scaring the daylights out of me, but there was nothing he could do. He explained that they were a wild bunch from the beginning.

However, in an effort to make it up to me, Gene offered to let me use his bow and arrow during hunting season. It was tempting, but I declined the offer, got back into my car, and carefully drove away.

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