They couldn’t have been more blatant, operating in broad
daylight over a period of about three weeks. I watched with binoculars, curious
of the process, utterly ignorant of the evil deed underfoot. How was I to know?
It started over a year ago when the property next door
changed hands. The new owners bulldozed an abandoned almond orchard and, I was
told, planned to put in walnuts. All last summer I saw tractors plow and
condition the soil, to my wonder the work finished up with seeding for a field
crop. Orchard development is a lengthy process, planting a one season harvest
brings income off of the land while the work continues.
Over the winter the seeds sprouted and a grassy field
emerged. The grower was lucky, even with the drought, somehow enough water got
to this one crop, other neighbors weren’t as fortunate, planted too late and
nothing grew—agriculture is a gamble.
But with the start of the merry merry month the harvest
came around. First mowers did the cut and after a week’s drying the baling
machines rolled around, finally the stackers and loaders got it all upon double
trailer big rigs and hauled it away.
Like I said, I watched the entire operation through
binoculars. To be honest, writing novels is a business that leaves one open to
distraction, with all of the activity right next door, I had the perfect excuse
for not working.
Yesterday afternoon, while I was doing my thing I received
a visit from a young man driving a Hummer. He looked every inch the modern
farmer, with a phone clipped to his ear and a female companion far too
influenced by the weight-loss industry. He explained that the crop next door was his,
and that the harvesters were not authorized agents but were in fact dastardly
thieves—they stole his hay.
I do not wish to belittle this phenomenon, agricultural
theft is a big enterprise that seems to happen under the radar—as if somebody
were getting a payoff.
But I had a front row view to the crime of the
century.
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