This was something else. This was someone who had decided that my preferences about my own land were a problem to be managed rather than a reality to be respected, and who had acted on that decision while I was gone because the timing was convenient. I told him the fence had been mine, on my property, lawfully installed, and he said you’ll adjust.
Once you get used to the openness you’ll thank us.
I walked back to my house without another word, took out my phone, and started photographing everything. The broken posts in their cracked concrete sleeves.
The piled boards. The volleyball net planted directly over my boundary line.
Then I went inside, sat at the kitchen table with Daisy’s head on my knee, and called Laura Bennett.
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