- - - - - - - - - - - -
By Douglas Cruickshank

Sept. 2, 1999 | I no longer live in the country. However, I don't miss the clean air, clear skies, wildflowers, trees, beasts, birds, infernal babbling brooks and other assorted, irritating natural wonders nearly as much as I miss reading the litany of rural sheriff's calls in the local newspaper.

The truth is, I don't miss those either because I now read them online.

For years I lived in west Marin County, Calif., the somewhat less chi-chi part of the famously flaky and physically beautiful land just north of San Francisco across the Golden Gate Bridge. West Marin is dominated by the Point Reyes National Seashore and numerous state and county parks or open space preserves, as well as many large dairy farms.

The region attracts an odd assortment of artists, retirees, vacationers, rascals, drifters, bohemians, day-trippers, surfers, freelance nutcases, farm workers and cowpokes. Stir them all together and one of the happy results is an endlessly entertaining stew of misbehavior, which is documented every week in the tiny Point Reyes Light newspaper, edited by David Vokes Mitchell. (The paper got some attention in 1979 for winning a Pulitzer gold medal for Meritorious Public Service for its coverage of the Synanon cult.)

The exceedingly spare prose of the Light's "Sheriff's Calls" feature encourages those with an active imagination to fill in the blanks. Those of us who derive pleasure from the simple things in life find this a restful diversion.

For example, to get started, try this one:

An agitated person, whom deputies described as "very large for his age," got into a quarrel with a second person. Deputies separated the pair and referred the matter to paramedics.

Or this:

A woman reported that her neighbor's front door had been open for two days. A deputy checked and concluded it was "an apparent oversight."

Or this:

After a hiker found large piles of dirt and plywood, he told deputies he believed fresh graves were being dug. A deputy concluded it was "most likely Marin Municipal Water District work."

After a spell, reading these miniature tone poems -- haikus of pathos, bathos and garden variety badness -- puts one in something of a meditative state. They're not all funny (unless you're of the school that believes the entire Universe and all its spasms are one big joke) but even the sad ones have their moments:

An Elm Road woman at 4 p.m. notified deputies her boyfriend, who is in his 30s, was refusing to leave her home. She said no drugs or alcohol were involved, but he was being verbally abusive and "acting strangely ... overly possessive." The boyfriend told deputies the two were just dealing with stress in their lives.

Yes, aren't we all, but that's no excuse for ill manners. Or outdoor furniture abuse, for that matter:

A man at 7:15 p.m. notified deputies that a woman was yelling, screaming, and throwing chairs in the playground. Deputies noted the woman is taking medication and that no further action was needed.

Next page | Pity the poor city slickers