Chapter 67: The Woman With the Red Folder
A county records specialist named Iris Dalton attended the next meeting with a red folder under her arm.
She had spent several weeks reconciling the proposed access drawings with recorded parcel boundaries.
Her department had discovered that one of the digital overlays was based on an outdated survey.
The error shifted the apparent boundary between my meadow and the public path by several feet.
Those few feet were enough to make a proposed construction entrance look less intrusive than it actually was.
Iris explained the discrepancy to county staff in careful terms.
She did not accuse anyone of deliberately changing the data.
The outdated survey had been publicly available, and the applicant had a responsibility to verify its accuracy.
I asked whether the error explained the red ribbons inside my orchard.
She could not answer because she did not know who placed them.
She gave Maya a corrected boundary sheet and explained how to request certified copies.
For the first time, an administrative error was being discussed separately from suspected vandalism.
That distinction mattered because an inaccurate map could cause real damage even when nobody intended harm.
I looked at the corrected overlay and imagined the engineers who had trusted the earlier line.
They might have drawn equipment routes and construction areas based on a false assumption.
The land itself had never moved.
Only the document pretending to describe it had changed.
Chapter 68: The Orchard Workers Speak
My two seasonal workers asked whether the resort dispute might threaten their jobs.
They had read stories online claiming that the farm would soon close.
I brought them into the kitchen and showed them the actual planting schedule and market contracts.
I explained that the business was continuing despite the damage.
Isaac wanted to know whether people would break equipment again.
“I can’t promise what strangers will do,
” I said.
“But the gates are secured, and we have a process for reporting anything suspicious.”
The other worker, Mara, suggested posting a simple sign at the service entrance directing delivery drivers to the front gate.
She had noticed unfamiliar vehicles stopping near the orchard while looking for the resort construction site.
Her suggestion solved a practical problem I had overlooked.
We installed the sign the following afternoon.
I also gave both workers written instructions for emergencies and made clear that neither was expected to confront trespassers.
They were there to work with trees, not protect my property at personal risk.
Their questions reminded me that my decisions affected more people than the names appearing on land records.
A small farm could still be a workplace, a source of income, and a place where younger people learned responsibility.
I wanted to protect all of that without turning ordinary work into a constant security operation.
