I Found Something on the Road

And I got a message.

This was a good story. However, some important information was posted in the comments, and that has altered it permanently. Please make sure you read the update at the end of the story.

Every Sunday morning, when I drive to visit my mom, I cross a set of country railroad tracks. I’ve never seen a train on these tracks. They were constructed to bring supplies to Plant Hatch, a nuclear plant built in rural Appling County, Georgia, on the banks of the Altamaha River.

The tracks were never removed. Maybe Southern Nuclear assumes it will need them again, to haul away the plant when it is decommissioned.

The tracks are not level with the pavement, so the car garumphs and skips a couple of times.

A few months ago, I crossed the tracks and spotted an object on the road. It looked metallic, like a tool. Maybe a hammer.

Without a doubt, my dad (the junk man) would have stopped and picked up whatever was on the road.

I’m just like him. Without a doubt. I’ve found amazing things lost on roads.

I checked behind me for traffic. People were either still in bed or at church, and the road was empty. I braked hard, pulled to the shoulder, and backed up until my car was even with the object.

Out lying in the middle of the highway was a hammer.

Someone had taken the railroad tracks at a fast clip, bounced hard, and lost their hammer.

I checked behind me for traffic. Still nothing. I gingerly opened the car door, watching the horizon of the road, and walked mid-lane. I picked up the hammer. I could see right away that its wooden handle was destroyed. I could feel the splinters. Fast, I got back in my car, dropped the hammer into the passenger-side footwell, and drove away.

Days passed. I forgot about the hammer. Then one day I spotted it and brought it inside. I put it down on a cluttered counter. Weeks passed.

Finally, I noticed marking on the handle. Was that handwriting? I stepped outside into sunlight.

“DAD always fixes what’s broken!” the writing said.

But the hammer was broken.

Maybe it had been broken before, and someone’s dad had repaired it? “Dad” not only fixed the broken hammer, but he fixed it with care. And he left a hand-engraved message. DAD always fixes what’s broken! I’ve thought about those words a lot.

The message showed a man’s love. But it was not a loving message, not really. The message had a tiny admonishment in it. Quit breaking stuff. Or, I always fix what I break, even if you don’t. Dad was all caps—did that mean something? What about the exclamation point at the end?

Now the hammer was lost to Dad’s child. And, don’t tell “Dad,” but the handle needs fixing again.

A part of me wanted to yell at the owner. Your dad fixed your hammer, and then you left it lying on your toolbox? Not inside the toolbox? A hammer wouldn’t have bounced out of the bed of your truck.

And on the other side of the handle I want to write, “Janisse always picks up your stuff.”

I have a good deal of social media friends from my home county of Appling. I meant to post a photo of the lost and re-broken hammer. Social media, however, is always last on my to-do list, and the hammer has never been posted.

Even so, I don’t think this story is over. My guess is that “Dad” will be found. Someone will read this story and know someone who knows someone.

One day, Dad will buy a new handle and have another go in his woodshop.

Because Dad always fixes what’s broken.

UPDATE, 17 July 26

In the comments, Trillium let me know that hammers such as this are mass-produced. I googled it, and yes, they are available in the marketplace. Check out this site if you want to see for yourself:

https://kikidesignsa.co.za/product/hammer-dad-always-fixes-whats-broken/

So there’s no dad, no child, no reason to return this hammer. Dang.

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In the Comments, Tell Me

Am I reading too much into the words on the hammer? Raven, my husband, thinks that I am. What’s your take? Have you ever found something that contained a message or a mystery? What was it? Did you ever find something that you were able to return to its owner?

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