me to park?”
She pointed toward my south pasture.“General parking is over there. Vendors go behind the barn.”
I stared at her orange volunteer vest.
Then at the temporary fencing stretching across my field.
Then at the portable toilets lined beside my irrigation shed.
Someone had driven forty steel posts into my ground.
Orange flags marked parking rows.
Three rented carnival tentsstood near the tree line.
A banner hung between two utility poles.
CEDAR RIDGE HARVEST WEEKEND.
Beneath it were smaller words promising a corn maze, hayrides, cider tasting,
