I walk four miles three or four times a week, usually early in the morning. I walk about half a mile down and across the highway, and turn into a large pasture that has a cultivated field with a center-pivot irrigation system. Once around the circle and back to the house is exactly 4 miles. Keeps me off the highway and out of traffic which tends to get heavy when school is in session.
The farmer had a crew in the field baling and stacking green wheat which they had mowed and wind-rowed several days before. They usually don't pay any attention to me except to wave hello if they pass by. This morning, as I was approaching the trail that I use to leave the circle and hit the two-track that leads back out to the highway, the young man driving the stacker veered over my way and stopped. I walked over, and after exchanging greetings, he said that they had put up a couple of illegals and that one of them was carrying a machete. He said that the farmer had called the Border Patrol and they were on their way. I thanked him and headed for my exit trail. Before I could get there, the farmer drove the bailer that he was driving over to my turn-off.
He is a third-generation farmer in this valley and he went to school and played sports with both of my stepsons from kindergarten to high school graduation, so we have known each other a long time. He got down off the bailer and greeted me, and then he asked if I was carrying. I patted the butt of the XDS that was inside my waistband. He had a single action revolver on his belt.
We hadn't talked in a while and he made light conversation until the first Border Patrol unit arrived. Then he told me to be careful, bid me good-bye and walked over to the Border Patrol vehicle, as two more were pulling in through the north and south gates to the highway. I enjoyed visiting with him and always make it a point to do so when I can, and I was pleased that he took the time to stop and talk with me.
By the time that I got back on the highway right of way, there were two more BP units and an aircraft searching for the two illegals, so I began to suspect that they must have done some mischief while they were trekking northward.
It also dawned on me that Kris had been politely looking out for me until he was sure that it was safe for me to go on. As I tell my wife, I carry because, having reached my late 70s, I look a lot more more like a potential victim than a threat.
