He came out two mornings later in a faded khaki shirt, carrying old plats, a GPS unit, survey flags, and a metal detector that looked older than both of us. Caleb came too, mostly because he was still sleeping in my spare room and needed something to do besides feel like a failure.
Harold walked the fence first.
He did not rush. He read the land the way some men read scripture, slowly and with the assumption that every detail mattered. He found an old iron pin half-buried near the western corner, exactly where the 1904 survey referenced it. He found stone piles at two turning points. He compared the fence line to the old plat. He took bearings. He made notes in a small book. Caleb and I followed him like students waiting for grades.
Finally, Harold stopped near the highest point of the ridge, removed his glasses, and looked toward the lake.
“Daniel,” he said, “that excavation is entirely on your property.”
Caleb let out a low whistle.
I felt relief first. Then anger, stronger because it had permission now.
“You’re sure?”
Harold looked offended. “Yes.”
“Could there be any gray area?”
