Eli didn’t say anything. He bent over and dropped another handful of seed into the fresh soil. “Excuse me!” the woman shouted. “You’ve trapped my car!” Eli straightened, dusted off his hands, and looked at her. “No, ma’am. I’ve planted my crop.”
“Don’t get smart with me. This is illegal!” “This is my land,” he said evenly. “And it’s planting season.” She pointed wildly. “You’ve built a moat around my car!” “No, ma’am,” he said again. “That’s called a furrow. And in about a week, it’ll be corn.”
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I’m calling the police!” Eli nodded. “You go right ahead.” She turned on her heel, stomped back to her car, and began furiously tapping at her phone screen. Eli returned to his work, humming softly.
The police arrived about twenty minutes later—two cruisers from the local department. One officer was young and looked bewildered from the moment he stepped out. The other was Deputy Claire, someone Eli had known for years.