“What a view, there’s the sheriff’s deputy,” Rudy said one afternoon when we were up in the nursery shoveling manure. I leaned on my shovel, but Rudy kept right on working. The deputy parked his car at the bottom of the driveway and marched straight up the pipeline easement. Rudy and I did not confer. Rudy did not stop shoveling, but watched sideways as the deputy turned from ant to life-size struggling man, clutching his side and red in the face.

“Rudy Gibbs, we’ve had complaints,” he said, wiping his forehead. He flung the sweat from his hand.

“Complaints?” Rudy said.

“Well, not complaints exactly. But we’ve been getting calls where people say things,” the sheriff’s deputy said.

“What things?” Rudy asked.

“They say that they don’t want to take care of an apple tree, let alone two.”

“But they’ve got to have two or they won’t get apples. The trees need to cross-pollinate,” Rudy said.

“You’ll have to stop this, Rudy,” the deputy said. “There’s a slew of things I could charge you with.”

“Like what?” asked Rudy.

“For one thing, trespassing,” the deputy said.

“Don’t you think people sort of like it?” I asked.

“Who are you?” the deputy asked.

“I’m Helen,” I said. “This is my place. I work for Rudy.”

“Careful now, you’re telling me you’re his accomplice,” the deputy said.

“Accomplice,” Rudy said. “I like the sound of that. Way better than employee.”

“All right, you two. You’ve been warned. I’ve given folks my direct line to call at any time if there’s a problem,” the deputy said.

“Sad day when the sheriff’s deputy arrests a man for planting trees,” Rudy said. “Not that I’m admitting anything.”

“Why do you have to make my life hard?” asked the deputy.

“Okay, we’ve been warned, I hear you,” said Rudy.

When the sheriff’s deputy had packed himself into his car again, I turned to Rudy, who had never paused in his shoveling. “What now?” I asked.

“You heard the man. No one’s even complained.”

“We could get in trouble. We could go to jail,” I said.

“Oh yes,” said Rudy, throwing his shovel aside. “You and your delicate sensibilities. Talk so much shit about questioning authority, private property is an oppressive construct, as long as you can safely observe us assholes from the sidelines. You fucking landowner. Typical college loudmouth. Don’t think I don’t notice how fast you shut up and stand back when the real shit’s about to go down. Can’t even shoot a gun in the air when it counts.”