Brief Synopsis: Sarah Dowdy hopes painting a
parking space will inspire her rural town to think green. As it turns out, it
inspires much more than that.
Dairy De-Lite Manager Daisy Farris
ordered the installation of the first electric car charging station in Lincoln
in the fall of 2014 per company mandate received via an official memo emailed
to her company account. By May, the dang thing was placed before the stall next
to the handicap spots on the west side of the building
Then no one used it the next three
years.
You must remember that in Lincoln
the population of full-sized diesel trucks still somehow manages to outnumber
the actual population about two to one. Gas mileage and saving the earth are
pretty low on the priority list of the average Lincolnite. Way below the
weather, which most speculate about in every conversation.
“Dang it, it’s hot! Been pissin’ on
my crops to keep them growing.”
“Lordy, when will it stop rainin’? Woke
up dis mornin’ and my heifers were doin’ cannonballs in the feed lot.”
“Never been this frosty in May, I
say. Still leery of unhitchin’ my snow blade.”
Connecting the dots between their beloved
gas-guzzling four-wheel-drive steeds and absurd weather occurrences was not in
the activity book of their minds. That’s how things are in Lincoln, U.S.A.
That’s how folks say it around these parts, Lincoln, U.S.A.
Not all of the town was ignorant to
the climate change cause. Sarah Dowdy was an exception. Boy, was she ever. Born
in 1999, three decades too late for the hippie movement, Ms. Dowdy loved
tie-dyed, braiding her straight blonde hair, and walking around with no shoes
on, and she lugged a huge tote bag everywhere filled with art supplies, hair
ties, and sticks of incense. On the side of the tote in rainbow letters it
said, “Recycling Rules!” Sarah Dowdy believed that small statements make big
differences.
Ms. Dowdy turned that glorious age
of sixteen in June of 2015,
and she noticed the charging station when she drove her daddy in his big Chevy
to the Dairy De-Lite after passing her driving test. She asked about it and old
Ross Dowdy whistled between his clenched teeth.
“Nothing but some tree huggers with
silly ideas,” Ross said, wanting more than anything to avoid the conversation
and get to his chocolate dip cone. Ross, you see, owns four gasoline stations
in the region. Gas efficiency definitely isn’t a priority.
Sarah Dowdy’s interest wasn’t so
easily dismissed. By God, Google was made for finding out about things, and
before she knew it, she loved electric cars. The charging station, she realized,
was a tiny symbol of change in Lincoln. It just needed some help.
“I can make a difference,” she proclaimed
one day to her best friend, Sophie, a chubby shy creature with braces. Sophie
nodded and shrugged, a gesture as encouraging as it was confusing.
A
night later, she snuck out of the house and hoofed it to the Dairy De-Lite
parking lot. Late night Lincoln was quiet. A single police car patrolled for an
hour or so before parking beside the highway allowing the deputy to nap between
the occasional approaching headlights.
Sarah’s bulging tote was filled
with spray paint cans. She came alone, Sophie being too timid for such
rebellion, and she came determined.
The parking lot had its own set of
lights and the charging station was thankfully blocked from the view of passing
traffic by the building. She admired her canvas a moment, the rectangle blacktop
of the car stall in front of the station while shaking a can of green paint. A
muse tickled her imagination and she began painting. First with green. Grass,
plants, and such. Then blue for sky, and once the blue dried, yellow for a bold
sun and white for a fluffy cloud. Brown. Orange. Purple. She worked so
feverishly she didn’t notice the shadow looming over her until it spoke.
“They’ll tan your hide for this.”
She jumped up, swirling to meet her
intruder and hatching a plan to spray him in the eyes if rape was on his mind.
He stepped back, flicking a cigarette away. Allan Schuld flipped burgers for
minimum wage at the Dairy De-Lite during the summer. He was a year older than
Sarah, and she remembered him from gym class, awkward with gangly limbs yet
surprisingly athletic. He still donned the pink t-shirt and black slacks of the
De-Lite uniform spotted with the obligatory stains and sweat spots. Below that
was the dictionary definition of an average American boy.
“What are you doing sneaking up on me?”
“I left my jacket inside and they
gave me a key this summer, so I walked over. What are you doing?”
“Making a statement.”
“Looks like you’re painting a parking spot.”
“It’s a statement about supporting
the earth.”
“Hmm, well I hope it dries before it
rains.”
He disappeared into the restaurant,
returning a few moments later.
In the meantime, she painted an
arrow on the sidewalk toward the charging station and one pointing to the mural
in the parking space. Between the arrows were the words, “This saves this!”
“I like it,” he smiled, “Say, how
far away do you live?”
“A couple miles, why?”
“Mind if I walk you home.”
She nodded and shrugged, borrowing
Sophie’s non-committal gesture. He took it as a yes, and it didn’t take long
for her to convince him to support the charging station, almost as fast as it
took for him to fall for her.
The rest of the walk was cliché.
Shining stars, a dark sky, a cool breeze, an offered jacket. Yes, cliché, but
that’s Lincoln, U.S.A.
Love accompanied them from then on
and that love inspired change.
Let’s paint the picture. Three
years later. An electric car. The same charging station, finally being used. A
late summer night. An engagement ring. A kiss. An embrace. A new mural painted
by the happy couple to replace the one lost by a lot resurfacing.
The result: three more couples in
Lincoln bought electric cars within the next six months.
Sarah Dowdy’s statement made a
difference.
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