Older guy, gravel voice. Sounded like he’d spent more time outdoors than most people spend awake. I found him through a local listing. And when I explained the situation, there was a pause on the line, then a low chuckle. Let me guess, he said. Developer came in, started moving lines that weren’t theirs to move. Something like that.
Yeah, he muttered. Seen it before. I’ll be out tomorrow. Pete showed up just after sunrise the next day, driving a truck that looked like it had been through three different decades and refused to retire. No small talk, no nonsense. He just nodded at me, grabbed his equipment, and got to work. I followed him out back.
He moved slow, methodical, setting markers, checking angles, cross- referencing the old survey with his measurements. Every now and then, he’d grunt or mutter something under his breath, like he was having a private argument with the land itself. After about an hour, he straightened up, wiped his hands on his jeans, and looked at me. “Well,” he said, “you’re not crazy.
Good to know.” He pointed toward the stumps. “Every single one of those at least 6 ft inside your boundary. Not even close.” I let that sit for a second. 6 ft? Yep. That’s not a mistake. Pete gave me a look. one of those looks that says he’s seen enough of the world to not be surprised anymore. No, he said that’s someone thinking they won’t get called on it.
He planted bright orange markers along the actual property line. Clear, undeniable, impossible to ignore. Then he handed me a copy of the updated survey. “If this goes where I think it’s going,” he said. “You’re going to want documentation.” I nodded. “Oh, I plan to.” After he left, I walked the line again slowly this time.
