"I have a bad feeling about this ... "

We’d searched since noon, and so far, everyone had beaten us to virgin territory. We’d ridden for miles, and though we’d had loads of fun, jumping hills and twisting the wheel for those centripetal-whipping side-slides, we hadn’t found a single field yet of untouched snow to shoot through in my little Suzuki Sidekick. It was a black, 4-wheel-drive ragtop. It was so small and light, that if we’d gotten it hung up, we could have nearly picked it up and unhung it with our bare hands. We hadn’t had to do that because every time we’d challenged the little SUV’s ability, it’d come through with sterling performance, regardless of which of us were driving it, and we’d all taken turns at the wheel.

Kenny Stanley was a good friend, as well as a colleague. We’d worked together for over a year at Virginia Blood Services in Richmond, Virginia. Somehow, we’d both landed the same weekend off, which was unusual, but it’d happened. My sister, Nee, was the on-site water-systems engineer in our family’s private housing development, and she’d ended up with the afternoon off as well.

We didn’t have to beg or plead for her to come with us. She climbed into a set of coveralls, suited up her four-year-old son into a winter jacket, and we were out the door, then slipping and sliding our way out of Caroline Pines over the remote county roads in search of some snow to grind.

Surely this was a sign!

We made our way off of the paved roads and soon we were twisting through trees and bushes, ramping up hills, and sliding the Suzuki sideways around every turn we found. We were nearly delirious with adrenaline rush!

For all the fun and excitement, after two and a half hours of driving, we’d still not found snow that hadn’t been touched by another set of wheels. Most of the local grownups, who’d wanted to go play in the snow, had been out the day before and beaten us to every place we thought to look. The sun sets early during Virginia winters, and we were about to call it a day and head back to the Pines when we found a road. A service road to a railroad track, running through the woods, with no tire tracks!

Oh yes! God had indeed granted a wish!

It was Nee’s turn at the wheel. Each of us had used caution with speed during the outing. We wanted my nephew to enjoy the thrill but, with a four-year-old, sliding was enough. High speed was out of the question. He was strapped in tight, and had been hanging onto the ‘panic bar’ the whole trip, squealing with excitement.

The new road we’d found was straight. We decided to follow it for a while to see if it opened up into anything impressive before we ran out of daylight. The rail tracks sat on a levee-like hill, running to our left. We hoped if we followed the access road for a little while, we’d find a break in the wood line and maybe, just maybe, a field that no one else had found the day before.

We drove what seemed like only a few miles when the break came. Nee turned the SUV to the left, up the hill, over the tracks, and there it lay. A more massive and untouched field of snow than we’d hoped for. It was acres upon acres of sheer white fluffy stuff. On the other side we could make out a break in the trees, making way for a fire road. A way in. A way out. It was perfect!

My nephew peered over the dash and said, “Wowwww!” Kenny and I leaned forward in our seats, taking in the view. It was like that moment of supreme anticipation coffee lovers experience moments before indulging in that first sip of morning brew. We just had to spend a few moments appreciating the sight before we yelled the charge to take the field.

And, as my hands slid up to grip the sides of the driver’s seat, my sister uttered the one phrase none of us wanted to hear.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

Seven little words. I can’t remember how many times I haven’t heeded those seven little words, whether spoken by her, or some other family member, having that special ability and habit of paying attention to whatever that little gift is. That little gift of warning, insight or foresight that sends off the alert that something is about to go wrong if we keep doing what we’re doing.

I may not remember how many times I've disregarded it, but, I can tell you with certainty, every time I’ve blown it off, I’ve regretted it. Sometimes painfully.

Before she could decide to obey her warning and turn the Sidekick around to take us back the way we came, I started applying the heat. She sat there, letting the motor idle, with her hands on the wheel for several moments while Kenny and I pushed and pushed for her to head down the slope.

But, once she decided to ignore the warning, she was totally committed. Kenny and I cheered her on from the backseat, and we plunged down the slope and into the field.

It was a truly monumental trek. Down the hill we went, gaining speed, and then we were shooting across the beautiful flat field, throwing snow feet into the air beside us. A little faster, and a little faster, and then we’d made it halfway across. It was a really huge span of field. We were bearing down on the tree line, heading for the fire road break, when suddenly, we lost our momentum and the Sidekick dropped speed. In less than twenty feet, we weren’t moving forward at all. We were moving downward, and the snow was rising up around us. Only the snow wasn’t staying white. It was dark, almost black, and slushy.

Nee plied her foot to the accelerator, but the Sidekick only sunk deeper, until finally, we stopped dropping, but the tires kept spinning. Nee unbelted herself, opened her door, and discovered dark, thick, swampy water level with the bottom of the door. An inch deeper and it would have been pooling inside the SUV. It had angled itself during the sink. The back end sat lower than the front end, and the ooze was as high as the broad back bumper. It was unfortunate that we were at still 80 feet from the wood line where the ground looked solid.

When Nee opened her door, within moments one of the most obnoxious odors I had ever encountered filled the Sidekick. At that time, I’d been an embalmer for over five years, and had experienced more than my fair share of encountering less than pleasant scents. This one rated right up there at the top with the worst of the worst. It was profoundly awful.

Snow had begun to fall again, the sun was low on the horizon, and there we sat. We were stuck, in a swamp, without a mobile phone.

She didn’t say “I told you so.” She took it up a few notches and said better, “When I say I have a bad feeling about something, there’s a reason for it! Now we’re gonna have to wade through this mess and try to push it out!” My little sister was very unhappy with all of us, including her self.

It was a great plan, but the problem was, I was wearing new boots. White boots, with a fancy white-fur lining. And, there was no way I was going to step thigh-deep into black swamp –pudding in my new white boots. I just couldn’t do it.

That left Kenny and Nee to climb out, wade through the muck, and do the dirty deed. I really did feel terribly sorry for both of them, but, if it had been left to me, we’d still be sitting there until Spring thaw. And so, out they went, sloshing their way to the back of the Sidekick. When they got into position and started pushing and rocking, I gunned the motor on their signal, and … we sank a little deeper.

We tried two more times, and each time, lower we went until the muck sat even with the inside of the cabin floor. Our pushing strategy didn’t work, and we had only an hour of sunlight left, with falling snow and dreary over-cast skies.

We decided we would have to abandon the Sidekick and walk to get help. My sister’s pastor had a four-wheel drive truck, and we were hoping we could get him to pull the SUV out. She and Kenny moved forward towards the tree line and stepped onto solid ground about forty feet in front of the stranded Sidekick. That was good, only forty feet. But, I just couldn’t bring myself to walk forty-feet in the muck wearing my new boots, and the muck was nearly as deep as my nephew was tall which meant, both of us would have to be piggy-backed to the shore line.

Now guess how thrilled my sister was!

I unlatched the roof on the Sidekick, and pushed my nephew out through the top. His mother helped him slide down the windshield to the hood, and then he climbed on her back and she waded with him to the shore. I followed suit, and climbed from the hood onto Kenny’s back and caught my own ride to shore. I’ll tell you, it was a long ride. Kenny kept pretending to trip every five feet. His attempt at humor was completely unappreciated.

Nee was dressed the warmest, and she decided she would stay with the Sidekick while Kenny and I took my nephew to cut through the woods along the fire road and find a phone. I assured them we hadn’t gone that far down the access road, and that we couldn’t be more than two or three miles from the little crossroads of Ruther Glen, near I-95. Ruther Glen had nearly no homes, but it had two truck-stops with diners and phone booths.

We promised Nee we’d hurry and we set out for the highway. It took us fifteen minutes to make it to paved road that didn’t look familiar. We turned left, heading west. The sun was nearly gone, and the snow fall was picking up when we saw our first sign. We were 12 miles from Ruther Glen.

Kenny wore a fleece lined sweater, but his jeans were soaked from his hips down. His new Nike tennis shoes (yes, I still feel terrible about that) were drenched with skunk-muck and squished every time he took a step. My nephew, whose nickname is The Cue Ball, was dry, but also in jeans, with no hat and no gloves. We’d not planned on physically playing in the snow; we’d only planned on driving through it. Neither of them was dressed for long periods in the cold. We were a long walking distance from the nearest town. My sister was nearly two miles away, in the woods, by herself.

I was more worried about Kenny and The Cue Ball than I was for her. Please let me tell you why. If you ever find yourself stranded in a bad situation, she’s the best sort to be stranded with. I figured, at the latest, we would be able to get back to her only a few hours after dark. By then she just might have built an igloo, complete with a fireplace (she would somehow figure out how to make that work, trust me) and be roasting her spitted dinner that she’d hunted, killed and dressed with no bigger aide than a pocket knife. She’s very resourceful that way. I’m not envious of her; I’m just baffled by her. I’d have died of fright and desperation ten minutes after sundown if it’d been me that had been left alone in the woods by a swamp. That’s why I still don’t think my clothing had anything to do with her decision to send me up the road with the boys.

Onward we trudged, taking turns carrying my nephew on our shoulders. We’d gone only a little over a mile when help arrived in the form of a local preacher driving a little red truck. He pulled to the side of the road, asked if we needed help, and then offered us a ride to Ruther Glen. I rode in front with the preacher and my nephew. Kenny climbed into the back because he was covered in swamp-stew and didn’t want to foul the cab interior.

The preacher dropped us off in Ruther Glen, and I phoned my sister’s pastor to request a tow. Kenny and I walked inside the truck-stop and didn’t have to worry about steering clear of the guests. One whiff of Kenny and they quickly stepped away from us.

I bought two coffees for two frigid grownups and a hot cocoa for my nephew, and then we found an out of the way spot to stand and sip while we waited for our ride. Before we finished our drinks, I saw the pastor’s big white truck pulling into the truck stop. Kenny, once more, resigned himself to ride in the back, while my nephew and I climbed into the cab, and we headed back to the woods to collect my sister and my SUV.

We’d made it just at sunset. Nee’s pastor handed her a heavy tow chain with a hook. She waded back into the cold swamp and attached the chain. Her pastor, Hoppy Childress, climbed in his 4x4, and in moments and the little Sidekick pulled onto the shore. I climbed in and turned the key. I was so surprised that after sitting so deep in the swamp, with the muffler over two feet under the muck, the engine fired on the first try. It never even stuttered.

Per my sister, she and Kenny smelled so foul, that I refused to let them ride in the SUV. She resigned to riding on a box of shells in the back of Hoppy’s truck with Kenny. That’s her part of the story anyway, and I won’t argue with her. I’ve had my moments of being less than best in character. In my defense, all of us rode in my SUV frequently, and I thought it might take until summer to get rid of the odor clinging to the outside. It might have taken years to get it out of the upholstery.

Ultimately, the entire event could have been avoided if I’d only heeded her little warning.

Over the years I’ve made an attempt to get better at it, but I don’t always succeed. On occasion, the thrill of positive possibilities outweighs the options for negative ones, and I do that thing I sometimes do. Jump into it (whatever it is, with full speed ahead, running through my mind.) But, more often than not, I have learned to listen, the hard way.

Nee says it’s divine design. She says those little warnings are a part of our creation, and innate in all of us. We can either make it a habit to make ourselves familiar with them, and heed them … or not. And, when we don’t, we can rightly anticipate trouble.

She believes it has nothing to do with telepathy, nor is it a paranormal ability. She says it’s simply related to being created in His image.