Victor Davis Hanson
8. The Garbage Baggers. Sometimes the encounters are surreal to the point of being comedic, yet always instructional about the oddities of rural existence. And after all, one must retain a sense of humor amidst the 21st-century’s absurdities, and sometimes things just don’t add up. Last year I walked along the alleyway and came upon a large car with the front doors open. A man and woman were hauling out huge 50-gallon trash bags of wet garbage. I ran over, “No, no, no basura!”
As I ran closer, they put the first two bags back into the back seat. Both spoke English, sort of. I asked, “Why are you doing this?”
They answered, “Do what? We are just looking for our lost bicycle.”
I laughed at that and answered, “In an isolated almond orchard?”
They laughed too, apologized, and pointed to the bags that were now back in their SUV. Ah, I let my guard down and shrugged I meant no harm. Then just when I thought they were not all that bad, they flipped a U-turn in the alleyway, drove slowly by me, rolled down the window, smiled—and suddenly gunned their SUV, coating me with a cloud of dust, honking as they sped off to the public road. Oh well: win some, lose more.
9. The Wild Rovers. Some “punks” from nearby would ride their dirt bikes all over the farm in and out of the orchard, up and down the dirt roads, occasionally ending even up in the barnyard. And always at full speed.
Crime is one thing. Insult upon injury quite another, given they once flashed by me while walking the dogs, flipped me off, and sped off to the public road. Finally, I followed them to a neighboring house. (I knew the old spot as well. In ancient times it had been owned by a farmer who used to raise chickens and sold eggs and fryers.)
I went up to the door and knocked. A man about 40 answered, well-tattooed. He politely told me he was on parole. His sons and their friends, he insisted, meant no harm. He could not stop them from trespassing anyway but would try. And he was now on the straight and narrow (shortly after this conversation, he was back in prison for a serious felony).
I walked back to the pickup, thinking, “Now that was one of the stupider things of many stupid things you’ve done.”
Then over the next month, I noticed something very odd: there was never again a wild rover on a dirt bike on our property again, at least from that house.
10. Wire Weasels. One favorite crime in these parts is the traffic in stolen copper wire, usually pulled from deep submersible pumps. The technique is bold and effective. The miscreant goes out to the pump, takes wooden-handle pruning shears, and cuts the power feed to the submersible. Then he wraps the end of the cable around his four-wheeler hitch and takes off, pulling out 200 feet or more of heavy gauge wire.
Then thieves meet and sell it to transitory fencers at prearranged places. What do farmers do other than call the sheriff post facto? They put signs like “Aluminum Wire here—no copper!” by their pump. Or they cage their wells within chain link fencing. Or they put cameras about with solar batteries. None really work.
One night, a car pulled up and drove alongside the front yard. A young woman was on the phone at just the same time a car with no lights drove out toward the pump. I happened to be outside on a warm summer night. I walked over, “Why are you on my property?” She scowled, “I’m calling and can do what I want.” I explained to her she was a lookout, the car across the road entered the orchard the minute she pulled over. And it was now backing out the minute she saw me walking toward her.
She rolled up the window, but not before spitting out “You have no right to be here!” Yes, we were back to rights and privileges. I managed to squeeze in a final, “Everyone who is not a thief on this road is armed, so it’s stupid to pull up to a house at night.” With “night” she tore off, honking (why all this honking?).
The post <span class="ultra-flag"><i class="fas fa-lock"></i>VDH Ultra</span>From Rural to Surreal—Once Small Farming Became Latifundia: Part Six appeared first on VDH’s Blade of Perseus.