Eli just nodded quietly, sipping his tea. “Maybe next year we plant sunflowers.” Margaret smiled. “Let’s do it.” Spring turned to summer, and Eli’s field bloomed without interruption. Not a single car had parked in it since “the incident,” as folks in town had started calling it.
The story had gone far beyond the county. News crews showed up for a few days, hoping to get a comment from the “revenge farmer.” Eli declined interviews, though Margaret let one polite reporter take a photo of the forget-me-nots that had begun to bloom again in the restored flowerbed.
He didn’t need attention. He had his land back. That was enough. Still, he had to admit—there was a certain satisfaction in the way people looked at him now. At the farmers’ market, someone always mentioned it.
“You’re the guy who boxed in those shoppers, right?” Or: “That video got me through a bad week—thank you.” One man even shook Eli’s hand and said, “It was the best thing I’ve seen all year.”