Hmmm, thought I. It had been windy. Perhaps that was it.
But when I approached it, I saw two things. First, that the screw-in eye-hook that affixed it had been pulled clean out of the socket.
And second, that on the ground by the sign was a bottle, a twenty-four ounce half-full plastic water bottle. The bottle was significantly dented on the outside, and the top, when I picked it up, was both mashed in and dirt covered.
I briefly did that Sherlock Holmes adding-things-up bit in my brain.
Location and condition of bottle. Sign position. Trauma around hole that had held mounting hook.
Ah. Most likely scenario: bottle thrown from passing car, sign as intentional target.
I searched the grassy ground delicately, seeking the rust-brown hook with hands and eyes. It took a moment, but there it was. Relatively undamaged. Well, there was a few pennies saved.
I tested the hole that had held it, to see if the damage would prevent it from being easily reassembled. With a little force and pressure, it dug in deeper, and held strongly enough to resist a sustained pull. I reinserted hook into eyelet. Good as new.
I have never understood the human desire to break things. Well, actually, no. I guess I do understand it.
We do so love that feeling of power.
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