Strangers on our front porch?

Our place in Vermont edges the wilderness. Bears crisscross our fields, a porcupine shuttles out from under the barn most nights, and a fox hunts under the apple trees. Aside from our neighbors, the only people we see are Appalachian Trail through-hikers, who emerge from the woods onto our dirt road.

At first this situation unnerved me. I’d rather see bears than strange men in my yard. But I have warmed to these travelers as my husband gives them rides into town and asks about their trips. They each have a reason for walking all those miles. Some of them can shatter me.

And yet, when I’m home alone, I’m still wary of strangers. I can feel like my daughter when she was little, just learning to be on guard. In line at Panera, she pointed to a middle-aged couple behind us and said, “Mommy, are those the strangers?” I smiled their way to let them know they looked like nice people to me.

One morning while we were away, a Ring camera alert popped up. Two hikers, maybe in their twenties, were on our front porch. My body tensed. Wearing a backpack, one tucked walking poles against her side while she shaded her eyes and peered into our front door. She knocked, then said, “I don’t think anyone’s here.”

What were they looking for? Should I be calling the police? Calling for someone to help them? Before my mind could settle on a worst-case outcome, the man spotted our camera, pointed the woman toward it, and they began talking to us.

The woman laughed, a little nervous as she got going, stumbling over something about doing this for rejection therapy. She relaxed a bit then, and looked more directly into the camera, “Hi! We’re through-hiking the AT, but we walked down the road for a change of scenery, and we loved your house.” She turned and smiled at the man, who added, nodding, “Yeah. It’s our life goal to have a house like this.”

They paused and looked around, taking in our place. And I melted into their smiles as the woman gave a big thumbs-up before they turned back toward the road.