A farmer decided to teach people who parked illegally a lesson

Eli Bauer had always believed in the honesty of the land. If you cared for it—fed it, tended it, talked to it in the quiet of the morning—it would surely thank you. He was not a man of significant needs. Eli lived on the edge of town, on a plot of land he had inherited from his grandfather. He had once tilled the land with nothing but a mule and a steadfast will. Times had changed. Now Eli had a tractor, and the old barn had electricity. But the spirit of the land had not changed. His wife, Margaret, had also grown up in this county; she tended the house and garden while Eli tended the fields. Everything was peaceful… until a SilverMart opened nearby. The next morning, Eli noticed something strange—a silver car was partially parked on his land. It was easy to guess: the parking spaces near the store were gone, and someone thought the farmer’s field was a convenient place for a car. By 10 a.m., Eli, with coffee in hand, saw three cars already—one almost driving into an irrigation ditch. This was no longer an accident but a brazen invasion. People decided that someone else’s property was public space. He painted a large sign in red paint: This is private property. Do not park here. Protected crops. But by Sunday, the signs were in the mud. There were already ten cars. Eli went to the store. The manager explained that they were not responsible for the actions of customers outside their territory. “Your customers are destroying the land that feeds people,” Eli said calmly. A week later, the situation had worsened. Cars lined up along the field. The tires left deep tracks. The stems were crushed. The petals were trampled. At eight a.m., he heard the familiar roar of engines. Cars were pulling in as if this was a parking lot. At 9:30, Eli started the tractor. His old Massey Ferguson roared like an awakened bear. He hitched up the plow and drove out into the field. He didn’t touch the machines—he was too careful to do that. Instead, he worked the ground around each one like dough around a cherry in a pie. When he was done, the field looked as if an element had swept through it. The machines were surrounded by soft, loose soil, which made it impossible to extricate them without assistance. He turned off the engine and, as if nothing had happened, began to sow—one seed after another. “What the hell?!” a voice called out. The police arrived within twenty minutes. The violators were ticketed for illegal parking and trespassing. If anyone had a complaint, they were invited to the city council. “You can complain,” Eli said quietly. — But more often, they shoot those who do the right thing. That same day, a video of Eli sowing seeds among the parked cars went viral on the Internet. The caption read: “Farmer takes revenge on those who parked in his field.” That evening, Margaret read his comments: “A hero of our time,” “This is what all violators should do,” “If you park in a field, get ready for the harvest.” Eli just nodded a supporter of deeds, not words. “Maybe we should sow sunflowers next year?” Margaret asked. “A great idea.” And when summer came, the field bloomed without a single car.