I’m fortunate in boarding my horse where there’s good camaraderie among the horses and their owners. Last Saturday, I rode in the morning. Another boarder was at the barn, soaking her horse’s foot (he had stepped on a nail and had a puncture wound), and another was out messing around with her horse. The barn owner gave lessons all morning. By about noon, we had all finished our separate activities.

The barn owner has just built a deck on her house and her truck was loaded with discarded scraps and junk. The gals asked me if I wanted to go with them to the dump. I laughed and suggested that maybe I had something better to do with my time than go to the dump. And obviously with three of them, they didn’t need my help.

Before long they had prevailed upon me and the four of us were headed out on a road trip — eight miles to the county dump. On the way home, though, instead of going back the same route, they turned right, and three miles down the road, pulled into a roadside ice cream shop.

It seems that “going to the dump” was code language for the ritual of going out for ice cream after getting rid of junk. We filled up on some local favorite ice cream concoction packed with chocolate (of course), peanut butter, caramel, and a gazillion calories. We had great fun, convincing ourselves how important going to the dump was.

What was important is the fellowship, the memories we are creating. Ten years from now when we talk about our time at the barn, it won’t be about riding circles in the arena. It will be about all the other silly activities that surround riding, and the times we pulled together, cared about what’s happening in each other’s lives, and had a few laughs.

There’s a lot of serious stuff going on in the world right now. Is there any way you could “go to the dump” (wink, wink) this week? Interrupt someone’s schedule and just have a few minutes of fun. You can work off the calories later.

Tragedy struck last week in the small town of Gaffney, SC, about 40 miles from our home. On Saturday afternoon, a man stopped by a farm to ask about hay for sale. The farmer’s wife was on her way out to do errands. She greeted the man and went on her way. She returned to find that her husband had been killed.

The farmer — a former tack shop owner — was well loved in that community. The couple’s son was a police officer, so you can imagine the number of police and first responders in attendance at his funeral on Wednesday. Just as the service was concluding, beepers and cell phones were all abuzz as the alert went out that there was another killing, only a few miles away.

This time, both an 80-year-old retired school teacher and her daughter had been shot. They had a “Hay For Sale” sign in their yard. An investigation quickly determined it was the same killer.

We hear of serial killers in big cities, but we never think that such evil could happen in our agricultural areas. People were truly scared. Prayer meetings were organized, neighbors checked on each other, people who generally welcome strangers locked their doors and kept their shotguns handy. Generations of ordinary, law-abiding citizens for whom gun ownership is a natural part of life were glad they knew what to do, should they have to. They prayed they didn’t.

Thursday afternoon brought news of another shooting; a furniture store owner who was closing up shop for the afternoon was killed. His 15-year-old daughter also was shot. She died two days later at the hospital. But, no hay involved this time.

The reward for information grew as donations poured in to Crimestoppers. Over 100 law officers and investigators from federal, state, and local agencies worked the case, apparently seamlessly. The public continued to pray and brought meals to the sheriff’s office for the deputies and investigators. A sketch of the killer and notice to watch for his vehicle appeared on numerous news websites, including as far away as England’s BBC.

About 35 miles away in Gastonia, NC, a woman spotted what she thought might be a robbery in progress at about 3 a.m. I’m not sure what happened when the police arrived, but one officer was shot in the leg. Police returned fire, and a man was killed. When it was confirmed this man was indeed the serial killer, the community breathed a huge sigh of relief. The suspense was over. In the end, it was public awareness that led to the killer’s being located.

The town of Gaffney has suffered a big offense. Their trauma extends beyond the loss of several good people. But their great sense of community and willingness to look out for each other will help them to heal. And with God’s help, they may be stronger for having gone through this together.