A little white index card had been taped over the spot with three strips of heavy gray duct tape.

I leaned in to read Brad’s writing, scrawled across the card in thick blue marker.

The card said the land was reserved for private seasonal leaseholders only, by order of the manager.

I lowered the flashlight beam to the frozen grass at the foot of the tree.

The yellow plastic boundary sign I’d bought at the hardware store was lying among the dead leaves.

It had been yanked right off the iron nails and ripped down the center into two jagged halves.