In August, another: same section, same photograph, plus a new one. The new one showed the side of my house and the blank cover plate on the meter socket. Under it, someone had typed: Residence displays no functioning utility meter. The Board has been unable to identify any lawful source of electrical service to this Lot. Fine: five hundred dollars.
I wrote back again. I sent another copy of the co-op letter, this time by certified mail. It was signed for.
I did not pay the fines. I'm a rule follower, but I'm not a fool. I figured we'd hash it out at the annual meeting in October, in front of people, where I could bring my binder and Glenda could bring hers.
What I didn't figure was that she would come into my yard while I was in Temple holding my sister's ice pack.
IV.
The deputy who came out that evening was named Josefina Quiroga, and she was young enough to be my daughter and serious enough to be my mother. She stood on my patio with her thumbs hooked in her duty belt and looked at the empty rectangle on the slab for a long moment.
"So they came in through the side gate," she said.
"It was latched with a carabiner. Not locked. But closed."
"And you didn't give anybody permission to enter the property."
"No, ma'am."
"And you didn't get a notice before this. Something saying they were going to come remove the items."
"I got violation letters. Two of them. For things I didn't do. Nothing saying anybody was coming onto my property. Nothing by certified mail." I handed her the plastic sleeve from the gate. "This is the first I heard of any of it."