By Joseph Hesch
There were quiet people all over the place, most of whom would never make eye contact with me. After talking to the owner of the place, I stepped away a bit and pulled my camera out to take a few “atmosphere” shots to illustrate the story. .
“No photos,” the Boss said. “Put that camera away.”
“But I’m just taking a couple of shots for the story. It’s such a bucolic scene and…”
“No photos, I said.” The Boss sounded pretty stern, but I tried igmoring him and looked through my viewfinder, composing what I thought would be my only shot.
I felt his hand on my shoulder and when I turned, he put his hands on his hips, pulling the front of his jacket open and revealing a revolver attached to his belt.
“No photos, yes sir,” I said. And hauled out of there back to Plattsburgh.
When I got to the office, my boss explained the fellow at the orchard was protecting himself and his workforce, which was comprised of more than a few “illegals.”
Like I said, I always remember this story when the first batch of apples enters the house. You don’t think he really would have shot me, do you?
“Secret Harvest” is my post for today’s dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night, which I had the priviledge to host last week. Check it out and enjoy some of the fruits of a world-wide array of special poets.