The unexplainable heebie-jeebies

A few weeks ago, an article came out entitled "Some spooky things are happening at serial killer Ted Bundy’s childhood home."

It seems a contractor bought an old fixer-upper house and began renovating it to put it up for sale. But then some spooky, creepy, unexplained things started happening. "I’m not one to believe a lot of this stuff, but this house made me a believer," said Casey Clopton, the contractor, who ended up penciling Bible verses on the walls and bringing in two pastors to bless the house. Clopton didn't know the house's history before purchasing it. His only goal was to renovate and re-sell it. None of Bundy's murders occurred while he was living in the house.

Don and I got to talking about this story recently, wondering how real the "heebie jeebies" really are.

We like to think we're rational, logical people. We both have science backgrounds and neither of us has any patience with the "supernatural." Nonetheless I've had three instances in my life where I got inexplicable heebie-jeebies.

The first time was in college. It was my junior year and I sitting on a couch, studying a science textbook. The chapter was examining the scientific contributions of various and sundry people. I turned the page and freaked.

The page showed a photo of some guy from about the 1880s or so. There was nothing wrong with him -- he just had one of those solemn faces you always see in 19th-century portraits -- but there was something heart-klunkingly creepy about him as he stared out of the page at me. I instantly turned to the previous page so I couldn't see him.

Over and over, whenever I looked at that photo, I couldn't stand it and had to cover the scientist's face in order to read the text. I asked my roommate if the photo bothered her, and she said no. At last, since I had to study the chapter, I ended up folding a piece of paper in half and taping it over the photo so I could study in peace.

What freaked me out? I have no stinkin' clue. It was the unexplainable heebie-jeebies.

The second time was shortly before Don and I got married. I was renting a small house in a suburban neighborhood in West Sacramento. Every evening after work, I leashed up my dog and rode my bike around the neighborhood with her -- past a grocery store, up to the library, around some side streets, then back home -- so she could get her exercise.

One evening -- a calm summer evening around 5:30 pm -- I was riding with my dog past a broad vacant lot I'd passed dozens of times before. It was quiet and sunny and completely deserted, just as it had always been.

Suddenly I got the chills. I became horribly, irrationally afraid. I looked at the vacant lot and saw nothing, absolutely nothing, to cause concern. Still, I didn’t waste any time. I wheeled the bike around and urged my dog to a run to get out of there. I stopped a few hundred yards away to let her catch her breath.

I have no idea what caused that fear. I saw no one. I didn’t hear or smell anything. I even kept an eye on the news for the next few days but saw nothing related to that particular spot. The only thing I had to go on was instinct, pure gut. And my gut said run.

The third time happened in about 1996. Don and I were living in southwest Oregon. Older Daughter was a baby. I was working seasonally as a field biologist surveying owls for the BLM, which meant I worked from about 7 pm until around 3 am. The usual procedure on this job was to stop at "stations" about a quarter-mile apart and voice-call ("hoot") owls and listen for responses.

Most of my time was spent driving on dirt roads through towering forests or hiking around some very remote mountainous areas. I had many adventures, but was never afraid -- except once.

It was a quiet summer night and I pulled the rig (truck) to a halt at a juncture of two dirt roads, which made a broad clearing surrounded by forests. I stepped out of the truck to "hoot" (voice-call owls) and listen for any responses.

Suddenly I was terrified. I heard nothing, saw nothing, smelled nothing -- but I dove for the cab of the truck, rolled up the windows, and locked the doors. I probably looked like a fool, out there miles from anywhere, huddled in the driver's seat ... but I wasn't getting out of that truck for anything.

As before, there was no rational reason for my fear, nor did anything happen.

So why did I freak? Why did I lock myself in the truck? Well, I figure humans have cultivated an amazing ability to disregard sixth-sense warnings. We still have instincts we're often too “civilized” to heed. But instinct is there for a reason, and that reason might be very important.

Of course, why an old photograph in a textbook should trigger such an instinct is anyone's guess. It's not like it could do me any harm.

But heebie-jeebies are weird that way.

Farmer's instinct

Sometimes it amazes me how much instinct farmers have -- an intuition or sixth sense when something is amiss.

A few years ago I noticed a calf lying down on the farthest side of the pasture. He was just -- lying there. Nothing wrong. Yet there was something that piqued my interest, especially when he laid there a lot longer than calves are wont to do. Turns out his hoof was tangled in a wire.

Another time, my concerns about Polly's hunched posture tuned me into a close call with hypothermia.

A few days ago we moved the cattle back to the wooded side of the property. Shortly thereafter we had a windy day (wind is nothing unusual around here), and of course during wind we hear all kinds of clanks, bangs, rattles, and other normal sounds.

So what was it about one particular clank that caught my attention? Through an open window in the house, I heard a chain clank against metal from a direction it shouldn't have. I stepped outside and saw the feedlot gate...

...had swung wide open. The wind had pushed the gate back and forth just enough that the single link holding the gate closed had worked its way out.

Inside the feedlot (still littered with debris from felling trees) were several cattle lounging about.

A few minutes longer, and the temptation to explore the open gate would have propelled the whole herd into the driveway.

This was just a trivial incident, but it does drive home how important it is to pay attention when your gut tells you something is wrong.

It also makes me ask: where else do people respond to their gut as part of their job? One poster mentioned nursing (true). Another mentioned hunting (also true). Others?

Situational awareness, rural style

Over many years of various outdoor work (field biologist, farmer, general animal-watcher) I've come to appreciate the sensitive responses animals have to their environment. A case in point: watch those tell-tale ears.

This morning, for example, I went out to feed the beasties. No one seemed alarmed or agitated (thus, no predators in the area) but I did notice these two calves with their ears twitched forward, watching something.

Sparky also had her ears tipped forward.

Notice everyone's posture: alert but not alarmed. I suspected a deer, though I couldn't see anything.

I stood quietly for awhile and just watched, and finally saw the deer. Can you see it?

Even though I knew where it was, I had a hard time spotting it until it moved, since it blended so well. (It's right smack in the middle of the photo enlargement below.)

This is just a small example of situational awareness in the wild. Animals have keen senses, and it behooves us to pay attention to the posture, attitudes, and ear positions of critters, both wild and domestic.

This hearkens back to last July when I released the chickens from their coop one morning, and they stood stock still because they saw a great blue heron up a pine tree. I'll copy over the same conclusion from that post, because it bears repeating:

These short and seemingly trivial incidents (cows watching deer, or chickens watching a heron) actually have some deeper implications for people.

Modern humans living in modern society with modern conveniences have learned to ignore the internal red flags that all creatures possess by instinct. In the kill-or-be-killed crucible of nature, to ignore a potential threat may be the last thing an animal ever does.

Yet people will do it all the time. In fact, most modern Americans have cultivated an amazing ability to disregard warning signs, both internal and external. We still have the instincts, but we're often too "civilized" to pay attention to them. But I figure instinct is there for a reason, and that reason might be very important.

This is some of the advice I gave Older Daughter as she prepared to leave the nest: to listen to that still, small voice inside you saying something is wrong. It may be saying something important. God gives us those little red flags now so we can avoid big problems later.

Red flags, blue herons

This morning when I released the chickens from the coop, I noticed they didn't immediately rush to the compost pile or the barn or any of their other usual haunts. In fact, they all stood stock-still under the awning by their chicken coop, utterly silent.

Their heads were cocked upward. I scanned the skies for a predator but didn't see anything.

Aha. I was wrong, the chickens were right. Perched way atop a dead tree was a great blue heron. Not, I will add, the usual perch for a heron. No wonder the chickens were wary.

A heron is a carnivore, but its usual prey is fish, frogs, etc. It would certainly never attack a chicken -- not so much because it wouldn't mind a nice juicy little chick, but because its body is not suitable to a swoop-and-catch like a hawk or eagle.

In a few moments the heron flew away, and the chickens relaxed.

This short and seemingly trivial incident actually has some deeper implications for people.

Modern humans living in modern society with modern conveniences have learned to ignore the internal red flags that all creatures possess by instinct. In the kill-or-be-killed crucible of nature, to ignore a potential threat may be the last thing an animal ever does.

Yet people will do it all the time. In fact, most modern Americans have cultivated an amazing ability to disregard warning signs, both internal and external. We still have the instincts, but we're often too "civilized" to pay attention to them. But I figure instinct is there for a reason, and that reason might be very important.

This is some of the advice I gave Older Daughter as she prepared to leave the nest: to listen to that still, small voice inside you saying something is wrong. It may be saying something important. God gives us those little red flags now so we can avoid big problems later.