But I also knew something Karen did not.
If thirty strangers walked into a working pasture near cattle, reality itself might make the point I had failed to make with words.
Saturday arrived hot.
The sky turned white blue by nine.
At ten thirty, vehicles lined the Willowbrook cul de sac.
More than before.
Thirty people, maybe more.
A food truck.
Coolers.
A half inflated bounce house.
Balloon bundles.
Tables.
A rented sound system.
Karen had upgraded.
I stood on the porch watching.
Nate texted:
She’s calling it “Second Annual” even though the first one was six days ago.
I laughed.
At eleven, people started crossing onto my property.
Again.
Some through the same damaged area.
Others simply opened a gate marked PRIVATE PROPERTY.
The cameras recorded everything.
Karen arrived last.
Mercedes.
White dress.
Sunglasses.
Megaphone.
Mimosa.
She waved toward my house.
Then shouted into the megaphone.
“Good morning, Willowbrook!”
Cheers.
“Welcome back to our beautiful community meadow!”
My jaw tightened.
I called Hank.
“They’re here.”
“All right.”
“Thirty plus.”
“Kids?”
“Yes.”
“Keep everyone away from livestock.”
“I’m trying.”
“I’m sending a unit.”
I put the phone away.
Then walked toward the pasture.
A girl pointed toward the bulls.
“Mommy, look at the cows!”
Karen heard.
She looked over.
“They’re harmless.”
I stopped ten feet away.
“They are not decorations.”
Karen turned.
“Oh, Cole.”
“You were formally told not to enter.”
She lifted her glass.
“Everyone, Farmer Cole has joined us!”
Nobody cheered.
Most people looked uncomfortable.
Good.
Maybe they remembered last week.
I looked around.
“Who here was told I gave permission?”
Several hands half rose.
Then dropped when Karen looked toward them.
A man answered.
“Karen said access was handled.”
I looked at her.
“There.”
She shrugged.
“They’re already here.”
“That doesn’t make it legal.”
