“You never use this section.”
I looked at the grass.
Then at the water trough.
Then toward the cattle.
“That’s not how farms work.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Honestly, Cole.”
“No.”
My voice carried.
“This is your warning. You are all on private property without permission. Pack your things and leave.”
Karen raised her phone.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a statement.”
“You’re harassing residents.”
“They’re trespassing.”
She held her phone toward me.
“Say that again.”
I pulled out mine.
Started recording.
“No problem.”
Her expression tightened.
I turned slowly.
“This is private farmland. I did not authorize this event. I am asking everyone here to leave.”
Several residents began looking uncomfortable.
A mother started folding a blanket.
Karen stepped between us.
“Nobody is leaving.”
I stared at her.
“You want to repeat that on camera?”
She glanced at my phone.
Then smiled.
“This area is community accessible open space.”
“No.”
“We have legal guidance.”
“From whom?”
“The HOA.”
“That’s not legal guidance.”
A few people laughed.
Karen’s face hardened.
Before she could answer, a boy ran toward the creek dividing the picnic area from another section.
He splashed through shallow water.
Two bulls on the far side lifted their heads.
One snorted.
I immediately turned.
“Hey.”
The boy stopped.
“Come back.”
His mother called him.
He returned.
I looked at Karen.
“This is why I told you to leave.”
“They’re behind a fence.”
“Correct.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is you have children running around livestock property.”
“They look harmless.”
I stared at her.
“They’re bulls.”
“Farm animals.”
“Karen.”
“They’re just standing there.”
“For now.”
She laughed.
“Oh, stop trying to scare everyone.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Stop trying to scare everyone.
As though I had created the risk by describing it.
