The Hand

When Michael first came home (six months ago tomorrow), he hated riding in the car. I wouldn't have been that worried, but the boys and I are daily commuters. We drive at least 45 minutes each way.

Fortunately, Michael has come to enjoy the drive. And so does Louis. We admire the cranes and diggers and mixers and dump trucks. We guess what the tractor trailers are carrying. We pass train tracks and look for commuter trains--and, if we see one, we roll down the windows and listen to the tracks sing.

We don't always stick to the main roads. Our new favorite is a road that passes over a commuter train track, winds through a valley, past some old mills, and by a few fields. One evening we had to stop so a family of geese could cross in front of us. Louis was thrilled. We talked about "Make Way for Ducklings" all the way home. Last week we saw deer nibbling on some grass, and Michael has been asking for them ever since, starting miles before we reach the spot. (Both our sons seem to have better senses of direction than I do.)

It's a lovely drive and seems to be as fast as--or maybe even faster than--the main road most days. So, as long as we're not worried about ice or flooded roads, we'll take it.

A few weeks ago, we were driving down this new favorite road when we stopped at a light and glanced to our left. This is what we saw:

The boys and I were fascinated. Louis--whose more recent fears have ranged from zombies to Mr. Yuk--was even a little frightened. But he was also very curious. And he kept asking to drive past the hand again. We made up story after story about how the hand had gotten there. Maybe it was being transported by helicopter and a large bird knocked it loose. Maybe it belonged to a giant. Maybe two boys named Louis and Michael needed a large hand statue. (That story got a bit convoluted.)

Then one day we drove past and the hand was gone. The boys were disappointed. We wondered where it had gone. But the very next day it was back--and it was covered with a piece of material. It stayed that way for about a week.

Then yesterday we slowed down to check out the hand yet again.

It was uncovered.

And it had turned green.

We are fascinated. How did it turn green? Why was it covered? Why is it less frightening now that it's green? Is it green for St. Patrick's Day? Will it be pink for Easter? The hand has become a big part of our dinnertime and commuting conversation.

I actually pulled over last night to see if the boys and I could do further research, but there wasn't a good place to park, and there wasn't a clear entrance to the place. There was also this huge, spooky hand, and I thought the boys might get upset when we got up close. Even more intimidating, of course, was the fact that I would have had to unload my two sons from their car seats. And there's no "Ask about the Hand" drive-through.

We don't know the story of the hand--not yet. I suspect that there's at least one college art student involved, and the barn seems to house a gardening supplies store--so maybe there's a clue there. I am determined to find out.