Afterward, he stood looking across my pasture.
“You know, Karen wanted us to buy this land.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Years ago.”
“When?”
“Before the first picnic.”
That surprised me.
“She brought it up?”
“Several times.”
“To the board?”
“Yes.”
“What did she want it for?”
“Community amenities. Walking trails. Event space. Maybe a pool expansion someday.”
I stared toward Willowbrook.
“Board approve anything?”
“No.”
“She acted like they did.”
“Karen did that.”
That explained more than I expected.
Maybe the picnics had never been only about a picnic.
Maybe Karen wanted residents to start seeing my pasture as theirs.
Use creates expectation.
Expectation creates pressure.
Pressure creates negotiation.
If enough people called it the community meadow, maybe someday somebody would forget it had always belonged to the Pattons.
That made me angry again.
Briefly.
Then I laughed.
Dan raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“She almost convinced herself.”
“She convinced plenty of others.”
“Not the deed office.”
“No.”
“Good.”
Property records are wonderfully indifferent to community vibes.
The farm stayed mine.
Years later, when someone new moved into Willowbrook, Dan apparently included a small section in the welcome packet.
ADJACENT AGRICULTURAL PROPERTY IS PRIVATELY OWNED.
DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT EXPRESS PERMISSION.
LIVESTOCK MAY BE PRESENT.
I framed that too.
My office eventually looked like a museum dedicated to one ridiculous summer.
Miguel called it the Karen wall.
I called it paperwork.
No one believed me.
Every now and then, somebody online still reposted the bull video.
A new headline.
A new dramatic caption.
Sometimes they claimed forty bulls.
Sometimes fifty.
One version said Karen was chased three miles.
Another claimed I sat on the porch drinking whiskey while laughing.
I drank coffee.
Details matter.
The truth was already dramatic enough.
Thirty five bulls.
Thirty plus trespassers.
One very bad decision by an HOA president.
