Anybody who knows me well enough is completely aware of what kind of person I am. Somewhat assertive (which can also be called "bitchy"), passionate, caring, understanding, demanding... yeah yeah... Y'all know this already.
So the other day I noticed a pair of motorbikes zooming around on the hill over the ridge. For the record, the ridge, while a public-right-of-way, is on our property. There's tons of blueberries growing up there! There's also tons of blueberries growing flat on the ground all over the property next door! Seriously, good pickin'!! These bozos are not only trespassing, but they're squashing all the lovely blueberries!!! Aaagh!!!
The bozos drove off after a couple more swoops. They just ... vanished...
A day later as I was walking the trail to the Big Beach, I found where the bozos entered and exited the hill. From Lower Street, onto our property, up the hill. They're trespassing!!! Aaaaagh! I'm going to have to get more of those big rocks put down there to stop the damn trespassing bikers!!
Well, yesterday the damn bozos were zooming across the hill on their motorbikes again. C'mon, Paul... come with me. I don't normally think I need a man, but I wanted an "INTIMIDATOR" with me. Paul makes a good one cuz he's big and brawny.
I dashed over our hill, across and up where the damn bikers had laid tracks through our place, caught sight of the devastated hillside they've been ravaging with their damn bikes and just gasped in dismay! Flattened brown grass everywhere! They must've been there for weeks trampling everything in sight! The blueberry plants don't stand a chance! Damn those bikers!!!
I wave my arms as the bikes turn in my direction.
"STOP!!!" I shout.
They stop. "Where are you from?" I holler. "Do you even belong here? Do you even know that you're destroying somebody's property?"
I may have thrown in some F-sharps and other assorted sharps. Hey. I was pissed!
The bozos remove their helmets. They're kids. A boy and a girl. Maybe 10 to 13 years old. They point shakily to the south. Right at the faded green house on the property in question.
Oops... New neighbours.
Daddy comes roaring up the hill in full bellow (no, not on a bike). "What're you doing to my kids?!?!"
I have to admit that I let my temper carry me along for a little while. I was so totally pissed at the destruction on the property, the loss of the blueberries (those lovely blueberries!!!) that I'd very proprietarily taken an interest in for the last 4 years. (The house has been vacant and up for sale since before we moved here.)
Also, myself and the guy on the other side of the green house have been the de facto neighbourhood watch committee, making sure that nobody vandalized the place or set fires on the property!
For all I knew, these were trespassers. I hadn't seen any signs of life other than the bikes!
I justified my actions. Apologized a couple of times. Not with any real degree of skill or grace, mind you. Have I mentioned that I was pissed?
Father of children expresses his desire that we get off his property. Points out the property line, saying that he owns the hillside up to the top. It seems that he's implying that he owns the bushes... No no... The top of the hillside is ours! Not his! Yes, it's a public right-of-way, but it belongs to us. Pedestrians are okay, not bikes. (blueberries proliferate on the rocky soil up there!!!)
We turn to leave. Paul tries to lighten the situation by speaking gently to the man. I glower. I'm good at it.
Uh-oh... here comes grandma! Grandma is the woman I'd met last fall on the hillside. (She was on our side, picking blueberries. We'd been friendly, I thought.)
She's roaring. The kids are traumatized. Some crazy lady was swearing at them. *sigh* I apologize again. I explain myself. Again.
She doesn't care about the blueberries. "Blueberries are the last thing I'm worried about!" she says.
Looking at the destruction of their property, I guess she's decided to turn her place into a trail biker's training ground. *sad*
Not finished, Father mentions the public right-of-way. Pointing at the rocks. Paul gently points out that the rocks and right-of-way intersect at the fence of the house down on Lower Street. No more public access through since somebody built the house.
Grandma says that's stupid. I say "welcome to Newfoundland."
Kids aren't to be on our property with their bikes. Father and Grandma look at each other and agree to talk to the kids about it.
Paul and I trudge down the hill, then around and back to our house. I wish he'd been quicker on his feet so he could've prevented me from putting mine in my mouth so firmly.
I think I'll bake some pie and deliver it to the house along with a crazy-lady apology card.
Not blueberry though.