Saturday, October 22, 2005

hoping it's not the end

We had just gotten started hawking the other week, in our usual field, when a shiny pickup drove up and asked us to leave. The driver was an engineer for the company that manages the property, and in the seat beside him was someone I guessed to be the owner.

A couple weeks before this, we were hawking in the northerly end of the field, and on our way out we were stopped by a guy with some missing teeth driving a converted bread truck. He asked if we'd noticed there was more junk than usual in the field. We rarely hawk the north side because of some resident redtails, and it usually had small trash piles lying around. But after some mental comparison, I had to agree. According to him, the cause is some homeless people trying to make some money being junk haulers. Instead of taking it to the city dump and paying the disposal fees, they drop the garbage here. He gave me a phone number to call and mention it.

In the falconers' book, complaint is usually an error. When owners hear about nuisances on their property, they put a fence around it with prominent "No Trespassing" signs at regular intervals. It took several days' consideration before I called and told them about the trash.

Complaint, as I said, is usually an error. I won't make that mistake again.

However, the engineer seemed reasonable. He could see we were flying hawks, not dropping off broken televisions or car shells and shooting them for the hecka. The owner kept his counsel. We asked if it was possible to get permission – we'll sign anything, we said. If we break a leg here, we take responsibility, we won't sue. It's our last nearby field – everything else is at least a half-hour away. He said he'd look into it, gave us his card, and even said we could finish hawking. We caught a jackrabbit, possibly our last one there.

I called twice, but he didn't call back. I'll keep trying, but I fear my days of easy, frequent hawking are over.

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