I stared at a gleaming white marquee tent, a portable dance floor, and dozens folding chairs set up right under my 200-year-old oak tree, while the local homeowners association president stood on my land in a silver gown and ordered me to move my pickup truck because it was ruining the sightlines for her niece’s stolen wedding venue.
I did not yell. I did not throw a fit. I just walked down to my barn, climbed onto my faded green tractor, and fired up a 2,000-gallon manure spreader filled to the absolute brim with the most pungent, concentrated liquid dairy fertilizer in the county.
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