To Eleanor, Arthur’s sprawling farm at the base of the valley was an eyesore. It didn't match the "aesthetic vision" of the Estates. She hated the hum of his tractor in the early mornings, and she especially hated the smell of fertilizer in the spring. She began a campaign to bend the old farmer to her will.
As spring turned to summer, Arthur planted his most ambitious crop yet: a massive, five-acre cornfield right at the northern edge of his property, abutting the newly paved road that led into Whispering Pines. By July, the cornstalks were eight feet tall, creating a thick, green, rustling wall.
The residents of Whispering Pines were divided. Some loved the rustic charm. Eleanor, however, was incandescent with rage. The cornfield blocked the view of the valley floor from the subdivision's entrance. Worse, it looked "untidy."
One Tuesday afternoon, Arthur found a crisp, white envelope taped to his rusty mailbox. It bore the gold-embossed seal of the Whispering Pines HOA.