Tyler looked out at the garden. At the old man with the potatoes. At the young mother with the baby. At the teenage boys with the corn.
“Forty families,” he said.
“Give or take.”
Tyler picked up his clipboard.
He looked at it for a long moment. Then he took the top sheet, the one with the notice of violation already half filled out, and he tore it off.
He folded it in half. Then in half again. Then he put it in his jacket pocket.
“Mr. Lindqvist,” he said, “the ordinance says unmaintained agricultural use.”
“That’s what the letter said,” Dad agreed.
“In my professional opinion,” Tyler said, “this is the most maintained property I’ve ever inspected. In my life.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t see any violation here, sir. I’ll write it up as unfounded.”
Dad looked up at him from the gravel.
