![]() ![]() After a disastrous first year on my own in nearby Columbus, I earned my GED and landed an unlikely part-time job: answering phones at a police substation. ![]() I left the fold when I was eighteen, not an easy feat when all I’d ever known was the plain life. My name is Kate Burkholder and I’m the chief of police of Painters Mill, Ohio, a township of just over 5,300 souls, half of whom are Amish, including my own family. By morning, my small police department and I will undoubtedly be dealing with a slew of accidents, hopefully none too serious. It’s the first snow of what has been a mild season so far, but with a low-pressure system barreling down from Canada, the situation is about to change. In the field to my left, the falling snow has transformed the cut cornstalks to an army of miniature skeletal snowmen. I’m behind the wheel of my city-issue Explorer, listening to the nearly nonexistent activity on my police radio, uncharacteristically anxious for my shift to end. ![]() and already the woods on the north side of Hogpath Road are alive with shadows. Dusk arrives early and without fanfare in northeastern Ohio in late January. ![]()
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