It was the summer of 2002 and 9-11 was fresh on our minds. The clean-up was still in progress, new legislation limiting freedoms in the name of public safety was being passed, and normal life was slowly coming back.
On our small ranch in south central Missouri we had watched it all with a sense of confusion and uncertainty. We were a long ways from the actual events, yet we were affected like all Americans. We wondered when, where, and from whom the next attack would come.
Still, we had to keep working our ranch. We had livestock and barnyard animals to care for, crops to till and harvest, and hay to put up for the winter. Life had to go on and the non-humans in our care knew nothing about the events of the world.
We are in a scenic part of the country with hills, lakes, and streams and rivers navigable by canoes, kayaks, and rafts. A national park, two state wildlife recreation areas, and several trails and public and private campgrounds are nearby. We often take some of our vine-ripened garden produce to local camping sites to sell for some extra spending money. Our efforts are almost always appreciated and we enjoy meeting people from different parts of the country.
I was down by the haystack about mid-morning when I heard voices. The barnyard area is set back some from the house and separated by some trees. Our driveway winds through the barnyard down to the infrequently traveled county road which takes a bend right at the end of the driveway. If you're not familiar with that county road, it's easy to miss the curve and drive right into our place. That's why my son scavenged an old stop sign and put it at the end of the driveway facing out to the road. It's not an official stop, of course, but it does give some people pause when they get to the intersection and it has reduced the unwanted traffic into our place.
So, pitchfork in hand, I stepped out from behind the haystack to see three women walking up the driveway. They were talking and laughing and were oblivious about where they were. They were probably camping locally and out for a morning hike. They had completely missed the stop sign. I walked to the front of the haystack and leaned on my fork, waiting to see how long it would take for them to notice me. It wasn't too long. They stopped about 10 yards from me.
"Howdy, ladies," I announced in my most welcoming southern Missouri voice. "Where you girls headed?"
They stopped talking, looked at me, looked around to see where they were, and looked at each other. They were dressed for a hike and for the hot weather sure to come later in the day. Two had backpacks and one was carrying a water bottle. Each of them wore hiking boots with socks just above the top of the boot. The tallest one had on a light green, button-down, sleeveless shirt tucked into cuffed, light brown shorts that reached to mid-thigh. Her light brown, shoulder length hair was pulled back on each side with hair clips of some sort. Her full lips stood out on her face. Her thumbs were hooked under the backpack straps which pulled her blouse tight across her generous chest.
The one on the left was slightly shorter with short hair parted on the side and pulled back behind her ear. She was either tan or naturally dark-skinned and her red, short-sleeved shirt was knotted under her breasts exposing her midriff and accentuating her chest. Blue short-shorts with no belt. She held a water bottle by the plastic strap securing the lid.
The woman in the middle was a Latina whose pipe-strap shirt hung loosely on her almost-too-big-for–her-body breasts. The blue patterned shirt ended just below her breasts. Dark black, shoulder-length hair framed her classically beautiful face with dark eyes and full, sensuous lips. Her midriff was taut and she, too, wore short-shorts which were white. She carried her backpack at her side with one hand.
The tallest one spoke, "We're just walking the road to the Lost Lake trail. We didn't know the road dead ended here."
"It doesn't," I replied. "You missed the curve at the end of the driveway and you are now on private property."
Again, she spoke. "Oh, we're sorry. We didn't know. We'll leave right now." They started to turn.
"Wait just a minute!" I called. They stopped and looked back at me. I picked up my pitchfork and took a couple of steps toward them. "How do I know you aren't spies or enemy agents scoping out the country?"
The woman with the water bottle replied this time. "You must be kidding. We're camping at the Blue Forest campground and we're just out for a hike. We're not any agents," she scoffed.
Again they turned to leave.
"Hold it right there!" I commanded as I took another step toward them. They were about five feet from me now and I was holding the pitchfork with two hands in front of me. "I didn't say you could leave."
This time it was the Latina who replied. "You can't keep us here." Then to the other women she said, "Let's go."
"Well, I guess I'll just have to call the sheriff," I responded. That caused them to stop, turn, and look at me.
"What do you mean 'call the sheriff'? We haven't done anything wrong," said the Latina in a somewhat defensive manner.
I replied, "Well, 'round here trespassing's a crime. Gets you locked up."
The tall woman immediately replied in a hostile way, "Go ahead and call the sheriff. We haven't done anything and we'll be gone before he gets here."
"That's probably true, but he'll know where you're camping and it won't be too difficult to find you," I said.
The woman with the water bottle spoke to the other two. "He's right. We don't want any trouble. Let's see what he wants."
She turned and spoke to me, "O.K. What do you want? What do we have to do for you to let us go?"
"You haven't convinced me you aren't some sort of enemy agents. You can't be too careful nowadays. I guess I'll just have to search you to make sure you don't have any contraband on you."
"Search us? You've got to be kidding," she said. "You can see we're not hiding anything. Here, look through our packs." The other two women held out their packs.
"Oh, I'll do that, alright. And I have to check the rest," I said.
"What 'rest'? There isn't any rest. We don't have anyth..." she stopped, realizing what the 'rest' meant. "Oh, no. That's not happening," she said. Then to the other two, "Let's get out of here."
"O.K. You can go. The sheriff is just a phone call away," I countered.
They stopped and huddled together, discussing their options. After a moment, "O.K. What do you want?"
I raised my pitchfork and stepped to the side. "I want y'all to get over there and put your hands up against the haystack." I gestured with the pitchfork. "Go on," I gestured again.
They walked, somewhat defeated, toward the stack.
"Put your packs down at the corner. The water bottle, too," I told them.
They walked around to the side of the stack which was out of sight of the road and the house. I waved the pitchfork around.
"That's far enough. Now get your hands up on that stack. Reach up and step back. Move apart from each other and spread your legs. Just like on TV when you get searched."
They looked at each other and did as I told them. There was some fear and anxiety, and perhaps the beginning of a tear. They were leaning against the stack with their hands about head level and their feet about three feet from the stack.
"Don't worry. If you haven't done anything wrong, you don't have anything to worry about."
"But -" one of them started to speak.
"Shut up! I don't want to hear no talking. I'm gonna look through these packs."
I moved a couple of bales onto the ground next to each other and dumped the contents of the packs onto the bales. Wasn't much in there. Some food. Sunscreen. More water. A compass. Hair ties. Wallets. A money clip. Other odds and ends. And a metal box, about 4" X 5" X 1". I held it up.
"What's this?" I asked.
"That's private," replied the first woman.
"Private, huh?" I said. "Probably some sort of tracking device."
"No! No! Nothing like that!" she replied as she moved one hand off the stack.
"Get your hand back up there!" I ordered. She put her hand back.
"You don't move until I tell you to move!" I directed. "I'll just have a look see."
